


buzzcut season

by MrsCalculation



Series: There'll Never Be Enough of Us [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, You'll see what I mean, sort of fwb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCalculation/pseuds/MrsCalculation
Summary: Coming off another all-gold season, Yuri doesn’t know what to do with himself. That’s not a good reason to end up in a random club in Moscow, alone in an unfamiliar place, but he’ll use it as an excuse.Cue Otabek sharing a part of himself with Yuri until Yuri crumbles and finds himself in the ruins.





	1. Normal

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, I somehow didn't know that this title is from a Lorde song... I stole it from a lyric in "i'm so tired..." by Lauv and Troye Sivan, which happens to come from the Lorde song... I'm a mess.
> 
> This fic starts in April of 2020. I have a whole timeline of the competitions and whatnot from the 2016 GPF to the start of this fic, which may or may not be revealed in final drafts of the story, depending on how relevant those details are, or I can just share those separately somewhere!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Yuri is anxious to be where he is, and he's drinking. However, this takes place when he's 19, so he's of legal drinking age in Russia. 
> 
> ["Normal" by Sasha Sloan](https://open.spotify.com/track/4hOyjY9EUksjyylV1QZaF3)

Coming off another all-gold season, Yuri doesn’t know what to do with himself. That’s not a good reason to end up in a random club in Moscow, alone in an unfamiliar place, but he’ll use it as an excuse.

He’d told his grandfather he was going out with friends, not to wait up because Yuri would be back late, but in all honesty, Yuri doesn’t know. It’s still relatively early, but he already wants to go home. He’s tired of being with people, but he’s even more tired of being alone. He knew when he left that he wanted to get lost in the warm press of bodies for once. Being a cold, deliberately-separated focal point is getting old.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

Yuri huffs to himself and presses forward, tired of holding up the wall and nursing the same beer. He downs it as he heads back to the bar, where he orders two of the strongest shots they sell, then makes his way to the dance floor. Damn if he’s not going to get something good out of the night.

By the time the DJ has cycled through the third song in a row he hates, Yuri has almost convinced himself that he belongs here. He’s been pressed between the same two girls since before this song began, and he manages to press an open-mouthed kiss to the back of one of their necks. Her skin burns his lips uncomfortably, but she becomes more enthusiastic about dancing with him, so he doesn’t leave. He makes no more attempts to get his mouth anywhere close to her, though she keeps squeezing impossibly closer to him. She grabs his wrist, and he breaks away abruptly, moving to the outskirts of the dance floor where the air is less shallow. Maybe alcohol still affects him more strongly than he thought.

Yuri looks around the club from where he’s standing, an unmoving pillar in the corner of the dance floor. He can see a man in a leather jacket at the bar smiling politely at the bartender as he gets his drinks, and Yuri is able to realign himself. He breathes in deeply once as he looks at the way the man’s hair, longer in the front, flops over the shadow of his undercut. The man turns and grins at someone standing next to him, and Yuri moves for the bar.

As he orders and downs two more shots, Yuri keeps track of the man. He’s pulled to him, and the club quiets as Yuri watches him. It’s easy to see him in the crowd, even as he pushes further into the dancing, and something urges Yuri to press his way back onto the floor towards him.

It’s obvious that undercut guy is part of a group, but Yuri can’t tell how large it is. He presses himself in between undercut guy and the person next to him, the delicate-looking young woman who Undercut smiled at earlier, and dances against both of them. Undercut’s warm presence grounds Yuri.

“Can I get drinks for you two?” Yuri asks after some time. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. The songs have changed, but he hasn’t kept up with how many times. He can tell he needs to move across the floor before his emptiness overwhelms him again.

The pair agrees enthusiastically to Yuri’s offer, and he goes to stand alone in line at the bar. He checks his phone, swiping away impersonal notifications and staring at the empty screen. The line moves up. He opens Snapchat, stares at nothing in particular, feels the static he’s been trying to avoid approaching.

Yuri takes a deep breath, filling himself with something besides numbness, and goes to take a selfie. The lighting is terrible, but he tries for his usual smirk anyway. It’s dark and grainy, and his face looks unbalanced, but it’s something to focus on for a moment. He swipes through the filters, not finding one he likes, then captions it, “not as fun as I’d hoped” and sends it to Otabek.

He knows it’ll be at best several hours later when Otabek opens it, since it’s around four in the morning in Almaty. He may not even see it until a few days later if he just swipes the notification away as he wakes up, but it gives Yuri something to do.

Finally toward the front of the line, Yuri shoves his phone away and tries not to think of Otabek. He already knows this would be more fun with him. He doesn’t have to remind himself of that. Instead, he orders a double for himself and downs it while the bartender prepares the drinks for the pair he left on the dance floor.

By the time Yuri gets back on the floor, it’s somehow even more crowded than when he left. He takes advantage of all of the grace and flexibility he’s put into some of his most complex routines to get to the pair without spilling their drinks. It’s a weight off his shoulders when he spots Undercut again, and he smoothly shifts into his line of sight and holds out one of the drinks.

“Thanks,” Undercut says, dark eyes sparkling as he takes a sip, and Yuri inhales and turns to the woman to hand her drink over. She thanks him as well, then gets excited and takes a big swig as the song changes into something she apparently likes. 

Yuri doesn’t flinch when she grabs his arm to pull him in to dance, but her touch still burns. He tries to ignore it as he gets closer to her, trying to make himself feel anything at all as he drags his hands all over her, but he just… doesn’t.

Instead, Yuri turns around to drag Undercut closer to them and presses his back into him, preferring his solid touch to the woman’s delicate one. Like this, he can pretend. 

A moment later, he feels Undercut’s breath against his ear. “Want a drink?” he asks. Yuri can only shake his head no. “Look at me.” 

Yuri turns best he can in the cramped space, one hand still gripping the woman’s waist. His face is barely centimeters from Undercut’s, and he can’t help but stare at his features, taking in each one by one in the fuzzy light of the club. 

“Do you understand?” Yuri hears Undercut say, brought back into the moment and realizing he’s missed whatever it was he just said.

Yuri tries to shake his head, but the movement is stuck. “Uh, sorry, no?”

“This place isn’t safe for people like us. Like you. Leave.”

Yuri gapes. He’s not sure what’s happening, but he feels his arm slip off the woman’s waist as he turns more completely to Undercut. He tilts his head to the side slightly, confused, and Undercut laughs lightly, humorlessly.

“You’re too pretty to be here, too obvious. Get out before someone hurts you. I know more than a few people would.” His eyes dart to one of the taller men now dancing with the woman they’ve both abandoned for stillness. “I know too well.”

“Come with me.” Something about Undercut makes him want to know him better, to understand what he means. Yuri has no idea what he’s talking about, but in this moment, he believes he could listen to him forever.

But Undercut chuckles, even as his eyes light up. Yuri sees hope written in them. “You don’t know how much I’d love to. But no.” He pulls Yuri into a quick, tight hug, tender and out of place here. “Go.”

Yuri is breathless as he backs away, his neck tingling where Undercut spoke against it, and he watches Undercut go back to the woman and the tall man she’s with. The tall man looks to Yuri, and Yuri sees disgust twisted into his features, surfacing far too readily as he looks Yuri over.

Yuri leaves.

Halfway through the walk home, Yuri gives up and hails a cab. He thought he wanted to be alone, but he is cold and tired and drunk and, for some reason, scared. He relaxes into the seat and stares out the window, grateful that the driver doesn’t seem to want to talk.

Except Yuri does. Yuri wants to talk about what just happened, and why he was there, and what Undercut said to him. He wants to know what it means and what Undercut thinks he knows so much about. He wants to know about Undercut, and begins to think that he should have gotten his number.

For what?

Yuri gets into his grandfather’s apartment as quietly as he can so as not to wake him, then shuffles into the bathroom to brush his teeth. His mouth tastes like death and ass. He stops short when he sees the reflection in the mirror, like he’s looking at someone else entirely. A man he has never met before is staring at him through his own eyes, and he doesn’t like it. He turns off the light to wash his face.

In his room, in sweatpants and an old shirt Otabek had given him and giant fuzzy cat socks that he’ll never tell Viktor are one of the best gifts he’s ever gotten, Yuri checks the time. He hesitates for a moment, but pulls up Otabek’s contact info and decides to video call.

“Yura… what the fuck,” Otabek says as he answers. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“In Almaty? 0547. That’s a plenty reasonable time to be awake. Go for a run or something.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Otabek says, but his tone changes as he rubs his eyes and takes in Yuri. “Yura, are you okay?”

Yuri can feel the corners of his smile going brittle. “Drunk. Tired. Clubbing may not be for me.”

Otabek smiles like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “We’ll see. But you didn’t answer me. Are you okay?”

Of course. Because Otabek likes to be very direct. “I…” Yuri starts, ducking his head and shaking his hair out. “I think so. I will be. But…” he trails off, his already-weak voice dying as he thinks.

“But?”

“I just want to be...normal, I guess,” Yuri says, regretting it instantly. He sounds dumb, childish, and he feels tingling behind his eyes.

Otabek doesn’t treat him like a child, though. “Normal how? You seem pretty normal to me, other than the whole internationally-acclaimed athlete thing.” Otabek pauses for a second, taking a moment to just look at Yuri on his screen. “What happened?”

Yuri sighs. “I don’t know. I couldn’t get into it, I didn’t like being around all those people, and the one person I did like being around told me to leave because his big scary friend was staring me down.” He stares at Otabek, who is uncomfortably quiet, and Yuri goes for anger instead of vulnerability. “Well? You gonna try to fix a problem that isn’t there or what?”

Otabek’s eyes twitch, but they don’t quite roll. “That doesn’t sound like you’re not normal, Yura. It sounds like you didn’t like where you were. It’s okay. You don’t have to live up to every aspect of the bad boy image you have. You’re allowed not to like clubs.”

Yuri holds in a sigh. It isn’t Otabek’s fault he doesn’t get it. Yuri is too drunk to explain anything very well, and would already suck at explaining how he feels even if he were sober. He does his best to ignore the blurriness steadily building in his vision.

“Yurochka,” Otabek says softly. “No matter what you think of yourself and how you’re supposed to be, I am glad you are the way you are. I am happy to have you as a friend.”

Tears begin to fall onto Yuri’s screen, and he hurries to wipe them away. “Beka,” he tries to say, but his voice hitches in the middle. “Beka, I have no friends _here_. I quit school as soon as I could for skating. I’ve never even been behind the wheel of a car, Beka! I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t know how to do anything but train and compete. I’m not a real person!”

Yuri has to stop to breathe before he starts sobbing. He can hear Otabek quietly shushing him on the phone, knows that he would be wrapping his arms around Yuri to let him sob into his chest if they were together.

“You’re so real, Yurochka. You are so strong.” Otabek pauses when Yuri scoffs, then says, more seriously than he’s heard Otabek say anything, “listen to me.”

Yuri can’t help but lift his eyes to the screen.

“Yurochka. You are talented and dedicated and ambitious, and you are brilliant in ways you don’t realize. You are very much a person. You can cook, you’ve managed money for you and your grandfather for nearly a decade, and you raised the cutest cat I know.” Yuri smiles at that. “You are bold, strong, and kind, even though that’s the last thing you want people to see you as. You aren’t normal because you are wonderful, Yura, and I’m not going to listen to you say otherwise.”

Yuri sniffs, but otherwise says nothing. He knows Otabek understands.

After a few moments of silence, they begin to talk about random things, and Yuri feels the tension drain out of him.

Eventually, Otabek has to go.

“I’ll call you this evening, okay?” Yuri nods, his head listing to the side. “And get some sleep. Promise me.”

“Okay,” Yuri says, not even able to put any acid into it.

“Last thing, Yura,” Otabek says. “Are you still okay to come to Almaty? I can always go there, if it’ll help.”

Yuri blinks, unable to say anything for a moment. Then, “thanks, Beka, but I think I could use the change of scenery.” Otabek nods. “Talk soon?”

“Talk soon,” Otabek promises, then hangs up.

Yuri lies down, calmer than he thinks he should be, and stares at his dark phone screen until he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was originally a bit more violent homophobia in this chapter, but my heart couldn't take it so I wrote something less severe. Come talk at me if you're comfortable knowing my original plan!


	2. I Know a Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["I Know a Place" by Muna](https://open.spotify.com/track/0bPSRn4crnh5f1JhELPlyL?si=bh8nO-DURF-vJa-oHFl59A)

It by far wasn’t the worst flight he’s been on, but Yuri’s still drained by the time he gets his luggage and collapses into Otabek.

“Hlurnf,” he says to Otabek’s jacket, yawning into the musk and leather that is Otabek.

Otabek huffs a soft laugh. “Hey, you,” he says, wrapping his arms around Yuri’s shoulders and gently pressing him closer. “Come on,” he says after a moment, “let’s get going.”

“Hnngh,” Yuri says, clinging ever-so-slightly tighter and going boneless in Otabek’s grip. Otabek laughs stronger now, but still struggles his way out of Yuri’s sticky hold.

“Yura, come on,” Otabek says, as petulant as he ever allows himself to be, as he drags Yuri to the exit because he’s refusing to move under his own power.

“Sorry,” Yuri says around a yawn. “I don’t know why, but I’m really tired.”

“The sooner we get home, the sooner you can nap.”

 _Home_. Yuri doesn’t have much time to consider the feeling that word is giving him before Otabek pulls open the door to a cab.

“This is us,” he says, ushering Yuri in while he takes Yuri’s luggage to put in the trunk.

Yuri climbs into the back seat, brow furrowed, and waits for Otabek to join him. “Hey, Beka?” he says once Otabek has gotten settled and given the address to the driver.

“Hm?” Otabek looks at him with a vague curiosity, but otherwise his expression remains blank.

“Where’s your car?” Yuri asks in English, not wanting the driver to think that Yuri had a problem with taking a cab. He really doesn’t. It’s just… Otabek always comes to pick Yuri up in his dad’s beat-up little car, the only one his family will let him borrow, and it’s a part of the routine that Yuri is so used to.

“I didn’t feel like taking it today,” Otabek says, also in English. His expression is unreadably neutral. “It’s early and I’m tired.”

“Mm-hm,” Yuri says, not believing Otabek but deciding not to push it.

Yuri wakes to Otabek gently moving him off his shoulder.

“Yura, wake up,” he says quietly. “We’re here. You can sleep inside.”

Groggy but calm, Yuri looks up at Otabek while running a hand through his hair. He smiles, small and genuine, and he feels content.

Otabek smiles back at him, then grabs his hand and hoists him out of the cab. Yuri stumbles and his stomach flips as he falls into step with Otabek.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got fruit and bread you can eat right now, or I can make something.”

“No,” Yuri says, waiting for Otabek to unlock the apartment door. “Can I just get water?” His mouth is dry.

“Of course,” Otabek says as he sets Yuri’s bags in the entryway. “Your space is already set up, and if you want to shower, you know where everything is.”

Yuri nods, realizing belatedly that Otabek’s back is to him as he goes into the kitchen to get Yuri his water, so he just picks up his bags and goes to the small, walled-off space towards the back of the apartment. There’s no door, but the walls give him a sense of privacy, and the pull-out couch isn’t so bad.

Otabek pokes his head into the room as Yuri is digging in his bag for sweat pants. “Your water.”

Yuri takes the glass and downs it at once, noticing once he’s put the glass down that Otabek is still watching him, leaning against the frame, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

“What,” Yuri says, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“Nah,” Otabek says, his smile becoming ever slightly more obvious. “I’m just happy to have you here.”

Yuri feels his face go hot, and he resumes aggressively searching his bag for his sweats. He feels Otabek get closer, then watches in his peripherals as he bends down to pick up the glass that Yuri left on the floor.

“Shower, sleep, whatever you need,” Otabek says. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

Yuri nods, still searching, and doesn’t turn to watch Otabek as he goes. He sits alone in silence for a moment, exhausted and overwhelmed, then dumps his bag out on the floor because he _still_ can’t find his fucking sweat pants. He’s losing his mind.

Finally, he finds them, balled up in a tee shirt and covered in cat hair, and goes to take a shower. He can hear Otabek moving around in the kitchen and humming softly, and Yuri smiles.

In the shower, Yuri lets the hot water drain some of the tension in his neck and shoulders. He doesn’t particularly like flying, but he’s used to it. Still, with no competition at the other end of the flight to focus on, Yuri’s anxiety about flying comes up in full force, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. He presses his forehead against the shower wall, letting the water ground him. He begins to feel more awake.

When Yuri leaves the bathroom, Otabek is sitting at the dining room table, a plate of food ignored in front of him as he looks at his phone.

“Yura,” he calls just as Yuri is about to enter his room.

“Yeah?” Yuri calls back from inside the room, dumping his old clothes into a corner on the floor. He walks out to the table.

“A couple of my friends wanted to go out tonight since you’re here,” Otabek says, “but I didn’t want to go if you’re not up to it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yuri asks, swiping a piece of bread from Otabek’s plate. “I like your friends,” he says around a mouthful.

“Yeah, but you seemed really tired when you got in. You’re going to be here long enough that I can reschedule with them.” Otabek’s face is more closed off than it normally is when it’s just the two of them.

Yuri makes a neutral noise. “I’ll tell you how I feel when I wake up,” he says, then steals another piece of bread before running back to his bed.

“You said you weren’t hungry,” Otabek says behind him, quiet laughter hidden in his voice.

Yuri pokes his head out of his room to stick his tongue out at Otabek, then gets in bed.

Yuri doesn’t sleep much, and when he does, he dreams of kissing a man with hair shaved close to the base of his neck, and of being cornered and lifted up by men twice his size. He wakes gasping for breath, desperate to put his feet on solid ground.

Otabek knocks on the frame to Yuri’s room at lunchtime. “I made palaw,” he says.

Yuri stands up quickly, eager to do something besides think about the sweat on the back of his neck and the feeling of ungentle fingers around his throat. He follows Otabek into the dining room, where a large dish of rice is in the center of the table. Otabek spoons out a generous portion on a plate and sets it in front of Yuri. He doubts he’ll eat it all, but he’s glad to have a task in front of him to focus on.

“What did you want to do with the rest of the day?” Otabek asks after Yuri has begun eating.

“I’m gonna want coffee after this,” Yuri says. “Is that one cafe open?” There’s a cafe that Yuri likes, that he will never admit is _cute_ , a short walk from Otabek’s apartment. It’s cramped and hidden away and Yuri will never understand how it stays in business, but he loves going there with Otabek.

“Yeah, it is. We can go there.” Otabek pauses. “You’re going to want to brush your hair first, though.”

Yuri scowls but immediately tries to run a hand through his hair. His fingers get caught in the tangles flattened to the right side of his head, and Otabek laughs. Yuri narrows his eyes at him.

“It’s okay, there’s no one here to impress,” Otabek says, eyes bright.

Yuri’s face flushes. “Yeah, whatever.” He goes back to his palaw.

Yuri avoids walking too close to Otabek on the way to the cafe. It’s cool, but still warmer than Yuri is used to, and he doesn’t want to risk being sweaty and brushing against Otabek.

“Have you decided if you want to go out tonight?” Otabek says, not out of nowhere but still catching Yuri off guard.

“Uh,” Yuri says. “I don’t know. I don’t want to go anywhere too big.” He hasn’t really thought about it, but this feels right coming out of his mouth.

“I can just tell them not tonight, Yura.”

“No, I want to go, I just don’t—”

“Yura,” Otabek cuts in. “You know them. You know they don’t do small. It’s okay to say no.”

“I know,” Yuri says, deflated. “But I really do want to go out. I just don’t think I can handle a lot tonight.” His throat starts to close in.

“Okay.” Pause. “Do you want to go out, just the two of us?”

Yuri looks up quickly. “Yeah? Where would we go?”

Otabek stops walking, looks Yuri up and down, then walks past him without another glance. “There’s a little place I know…It might be your thing.”

Yuri looks to Otabek very confused, but Otabek’s paying his cover, so he’s not going to complain.

They’re standing in front of a tiny building with a tiny staircase leading to what looks only like a tiny, dirty basement. The “bouncer” looks like a random guy who happened to stop on this corner, not a reliable source of security for a club. His dark hair is spiked up and has a pale purple streak across the right side. He smiles at Otabek familiarly, and he doesn’t even ask Yuri for ID.

“Uh, Beka?” Yuri asks. “Is this a bar or a haunted house?”

Otabek smirks over at Yuri. “Trust me. If you don’t like it, we’ll leave. But it’s better once you’re inside.”

Yuri just nods, taking Otabek’s word for it even though the building in front of him is not one he would go into on his own.

They descend the stairs and turn a corner, and Yuri has to admit that it gets nicer the further in they go. The venue itself is lit in blues and purples, and aggressive but upbeat music is coming from every corner. It’s full but not crowded, and the air doesn’t smell stiff or stale despite being underground. There’s no real distinction between bar and dance floor, but there is a small section near the entryway with nothing but couches, where it looks like a few people are taking a breather.

“What is this?” Yuri asks Otabek, taking it in.

“My favorite club in Almaty,” Otabek says. “It’s kind of like a hideaway for me. Do you like it?”

Yuri nods slowly. “Yeah, it’s...it’s exactly what I was looking for.”

Otabek smiles at him as if Yuri himself was made of sunshine, then asks if Yuri wants a drink.

“Yeah, please, whatever you’re having,” Yuri says.

“Okay, I’ll meet you on the floor soon.”

Yuri heads to the middle of the dance floor as Otabek heads to the bar, and the song slides from something very punk to something very electronic. It sounds vaguely familiar even though Yuri doesn’t think he knows the song, but he trusts his body enough to dance without being intimately familiar with the music.

Barely a minute later of feeding off the energy of the crowd, a man probably about Otabek’s age comes to dance against Yuri. Yuri moves into him, appreciating the way he moves, and is surprised when the man runs his hands up Yuri’s body then throws them in the air rather than pulling away from him. Experimentally, Yuri puts one hand on the man’s waist, remembering to smile as he does so he doesn’t seem aggressive, and moves the man’s body with his own. The man slots his hips against Yuri’s and laughs, and Yuri can’t help but laugh himself, fueled by the man’s enthusiasm.

Yuri is still dancing with the man, having the time of his life, when Otabek finds him. 

“Yura,” Otabek says over the music. He doesn’t have to yell to be heard, but he still has to speak louder than usual.

Yuri turns to greet him, and he smiles big at him. “Beka!” he says and immediately reaches for him. Otabek puts the drink in his hand, and its cold strikes Yuri as odd compared to the warmth of Otabek he was expecting. “Beka, dance with me!”

“I’d hate to steal you,” Otabek says, gesturing to the man Yuri was just dancing with. He disappears into the crowd.

Yuri turns back to the man and takes a swig of the drink Otabek brought him. It electrifies his throat. He wonders vaguely why Otabek didn’t stay to dance, but his thoughts are cut off by the man’s hands on him again as soon as he’s done with his first sip of the drink.

Several songs cycle through, most of them from a wide variety of genres, but Yuri can’t honestly say he dislikes any of them. He’s enjoying dancing with this man, and he’s comfortable in the air of this club.

“I’m going to get another drink. Do you want one?” he asks the man as another new song starts.

“I’ll go with you,” the man says, and, surprisingly, latches his arms around Yuri’s waist as they walk.

Yuri orders a shot and a mixed drink each for him and the man, whose name he learns is Serik. As soon as they’ve gotten their mixed drinks, Serik drags him back out to the floor, pressed in close, and Yuri feels high from the contact.

A song Serik seems to love comes on, and he pulls at Yuri more intensely, wrapping himself behind Yuri and dancing against him. Yuri laughs, wishing he could feel the same joy that Serik does, and his breath catches when Serik kisses the back of his neck. Yuri doesn’t stop moving, but he also doesn’t turn around. He looks to see if anyone nearby noticed, but no one seems to care, so Yuri pushes back closer to Serik and doesn’t stop him.

Another few songs later, Yuri finally pulls away. “I should go find my friend,” he tells Serik. “I can find you again if you want?” Serik nods enthusiastically, then heads to the bar as Yuri pushes into the crowd.

Yuri spots Otabek towards the front of the dance floor, next to the DJ’s roped-off stand. He’s talking happily to one of the women on the other side of the ropes, and Yuri’s pulse picks up.

“Beka!” he calls, then grabs Otabek’s arm. He doesn’t pull him away, but he wants to be touching him. “Beka, where have you been? You don’t want to dance?”

Otabek smiles at him. “How much have you had, Yuri?”

“Not much, only three,” Yuri says, and Otabek’s eyes widen.

“Really? Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Here, Yuri, meet Anar,” Otabek says, gesturing to the woman on the stand. “She’s a DJ friend of mine.”

Anar reaches a hand over the ropes and leans down to shake Yuri’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” she says. “Beka talks about you a lot.

Yuri looks over at Otabek, who’s ducked his head, then back at Anar. “Nice to meet you, too,” he says genuinely. Something about her isn’t as intimidating as she looked from a distance.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’m almost up.” She grins pointedly at Otabek, then turns and walks the short distance to the current DJ. She looks up, and Anar places a happy kiss on her cheek.

Yuri feels his eyes get wider as something clicks into place. He whips his head back to Otabek. “Beka,” he says, serious but not unhappy.

“Yura,” Otabek says in response, and Yuri smacks his arm.

“Beka, is this—” he cuts himself off, suddenly less confident.

“Is this what, Yurochka?”

Yuri tears his eyes away from Otabek, not able to look him in the eye as he asks. “Is this a gay club?” he asks in a rush.

Otabek huffs out a soft breath. “Well, it isn’t exclusively _gay_ …there are other sexualities here, too.”

Yuri meets Otabek’s eye again. “Beka,” he says, stalling, not sure of what he wants to come out of his mouth next. “I’m not gay.”

Otabek raises an eyebrow, but otherwise his expression doesn’t change. “Yeah, because you’re the one who brought us here.”

Yuri stares for a second, then laughs, excited and happy. He puts his hands in Otabek’s and pulls. “Come on, Beka. We’re going to dance.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these characters is in denial and it's not Otabek :) :) :)  
> Hoping to update every other day, but I've got some stuff coming up this week that may prevent that. I'll do my best, though!  
> By the way, I did a (very bad) floor plan of Otabek's apartment because I am too invested, if anyone wants to see that lol  
> Thank you for reading! Comment if there's anything you'd like to see added into this (:


	3. Movement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello this isn't even proofread, much less edited. I am a disaster and I apologize greatly.  
> Warning for Yuri getting drunk in this chapter.  
> Viktor and Yuuri make brief appearances for the first time! Yay!!
> 
> ["Movement" by Hozier](https://open.spotify.com/track/1djzKW3eYLyzjjHXazEWWh?si=6etecxUZRKaM4MRo5B85IA)

Yuri wakes up to his phone buzzing against his face. It isn’t a comfortable way to wake up.

 **Serik:** Hello! It was nice meeting you last night. Let me know if you want to see each other again before you leave!

Yuri rolls over in bed and smiles. He likes Serik. He had made sure to find him before he had left the club for the night, and had left Otabek less-than-patiently waiting while they exchanged contact information.

 **Yuri:** I will! I’ll let you know when I have time and hopefully we can work something out

 **Serik** : :)

Yuri smiles again, then gets up to go to the kitchen. Judging by the closed door to his bedroom and the empty kitchen, Otabek isn’t awake yet. Yuri rummages around until he finds what he needs to make tea.

He feels Otabek in the room before he sees or hears him. Otabek has always been quiet, but Yuri very quickly figured out how to tell when he was around, not at all in part because Otabek used to love to sneak up on him to scare him. That had nothing to do with it.

“Morning,” Yuri says before he even turns around. “Want some tea?”

“Please,” Otabek says, sounding stunted even for himself.

Yuri spares a glance over his shoulder. Otabek doesn’t look particularly worse for wear, or even remotely hungover. He doesn’t even look sleepy, but he seems exhausted.

“Rough night?” Yuri asks.

“Not really. Thank you,” Otabek says, taking the tea Yuri hands him and heading to the dining room table.

Yuri frowns. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“I’ll make something later. Yuri.”

Yuri flinches and turns around. “Yeah?”

“Can you come here a minute?”

Otabek looks so exposed from where he sits, a fluffy blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders, too-short joggers cutting off just above his ankles. Yuri can’t help but immediately comply.

“What’s wrong, Beka?” he asks as he sits down.

“Nothing. I wanted to talk about last night.”

“What about it?” Yuri asks, genuinely confused.

“If you’re really okay with this,” Otabek says. He looks at Yuri, and when he gets no response, elaborates. “If you’re okay with me being gay.”

Yuri shoots back in his chair, shoulders going stiff. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you’re always complaining about Viktor and Yuuri—”

“Okay but that’s because they’re _gross_ —”

“—and you’re Russian.”

Yuri blinks once and stares at Otabek. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.” Otabek pauses. “I’ve seen how half the world treats gay people, our countries included. Not every Russian thinks like Viktor Nikiforov. I’ve never thought you were like that, of course, but it’s better to be safe.” Otabek looks more vulnerable than Yuri has ever seen him. “Yura?”

Yuri stands and wraps himself around Otabek, putting his chin on top of Otabek’s head. “Beka,” he says, and he sees a wet spot on Otabek’s blanket and realizes he’s crying. “Beka, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me this. You’re my best friend. Fuck what the rest of the world says, I love you no matter what they think.”

Otabek wraps his arms around Yuri’s back, strong and reassuring even in his own vulnerability. “I know.”

When they pull apart from each other some time later, Yuri wipes his eyes and giggles.

“What’s funny?” Otabek asks.

“It’s weird,” Yuri says, “that I’m the one crying here.”

Otabek smiles at him, and there’s something in it Yuri can’t read. “Maybe, yeah.” He stands. “Come on, get dressed. Let’s go get breakfast.”

“Do you have any plans for today?” Yuri asks on their way back to Otabek’s apartment.

“Not anything in particular. Why? Is there something you want to do?”

“Kind of,” Yuri says hesitantly. “Would you want to get dinner with Serik tonight?”

“Ser—oh, yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think he would want me there.”

“Why?”

Otabek shoots Yuri an unimpressed look. “Yura, have you ever been on a date before?”

Yuri bristles. “Yes, but—I mean, that’s not—”

Otabek laughs. “Maybe that’s not what you want from him, but I think the guy dancing all over you at a gay club for several hours wants to take you out.”

Yuri can only plant himself and glare at Otabek, who is completely unaffected and continues walking. “Fuck you, Beka.”

Otabek laughs again. “That’s homophobic, Plisetsky.”

Yuri can’t help but grin, glad that Otabek can’t see him. “How?”

“I’m gay and you’re being rude to me,” Otabek says over his shoulder.

“You know fucking _what_ , Altin,” Yuri says, then runs up to Otabek and kicks him in the back playfully. He grins at the startled laugh that comes out of Otabek, and he feels okay again.

They don’t see Serik that night, or any night for the next few days, and Yuri is surprisingly okay with that. He had jumped on the opportunity to make another friend, but he finds himself content to laugh at the occasional meme shared between them.

“If you plan on meeting up again, you should tell him you’re not interested in dating,” Otabek says one day over dinner as Yuri is grinning at his phone.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Yuri says, but he puts his phone down.

Instead, they spend a few days doing nothing in particular. They go for hikes, visit the market, make meals together, see Otabek’s friends and family, even go to Otabek’s rink to skate a few times. Yuri doesn’t remember the last time he felt so calm, or the last time skating was fun.

“You don’t seem as stressed as I thought you would be,” Otabek says.

Yuri looks up from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. “As you thought I’d be?”

“Yeah,” Otabek says. “You seemed really unhappy during the season.”

Yuri snorts. “I’m always angry, Beka.”

“Not angry. Just unhappy. And you aren’t either now.”

Hm. Yuri goes back to his phone. “I just like it here, I guess,” he says.

Otabek makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, then says, “Anyway, I’m going to my parents’ house for dinner tonight. You don’t have to come. But I’m DJing tomorrow, if you’re up for that.”

“Beka,” Yuri says, “I am always up to watch you DJ. Hell yes.”

Otabek grins and goes back to his book while Yuri’s phone buzzes with a new meme. It’s a nice moment.

“Bye, asshole!” Yuri yells as Otabek leaves for dinner. He’s okay with not going, Otabek deserves time with his family without Yuri, but now he has to figure out something to do.

He calls Serik.

“Hey!” Serik greets, far more enthusiastic than Yuri has ever been about anything. Yuri wants to find it annoying, but he can’t.

“Hey! Are you busy tonight? I have no plans for the rest of the evening.”

“Ugh, no! I’m going out with a friend for his birthday. Another time, maybe?”

Yuri feels a little less cheerful than he did when Serik answered. “Yeah! I’m only here for another week, though.”

“Okay!” Serik says, chipper as ever. “We’ll make it work!”

“All right, cool,” Yuri says. He waits through a beat of silence. “Anyway, have fun!”

“Have a nice night!” Serik says, then hangs up.

Yuri tosses his phone on the bed, then flops face-first into a pillow. He tries his best not to groan into it like a child and fails. He hadn’t realized until now how much he was actually looking forward to seeing Serik again.

His stomach lurches.

“Fuck it,” he says, and picks up his phone again.

“Yurio!” Viktor calls into the phone after not even one full ring. “My son! My boy! My child! My—”

“Fuck off, old man,” Yuri says, and moves to hang up. His finger hovers over the button, but he doesn’t press it.

“Aw, Yurio, don’t be like that! You called me, after all!”

Yuri groans. “Yeah, my mistake,” he says. He groans. “Fuck everything,” he says.

“What’s wrong, Yura?” Viktor asks, suddenly uncharacteristically sincere.

“How did you know you were gay?” Yuri blurts out without thinking, then immediately hangs up.

 _Fuck_. That is not how he planned that going.

His phone vibrates in his hand. He stares at it. He considers.

He declines.

He stares at his phone for a full minute. It doesn’t ring again. He relaxes. He plops again.

His phone vibrates, this time with a call from Yuuri. Oh, _fuck_ no.

“What,” he answers in Russian, because if he’s gonna have this conversation with Yuuri, he’s going to make him work for it.

“Ah, um, Viktor is worried about you,” Yuuri says in almost-passable Russian.

“Tell him to eat eight dicks,” Yuri says.

Unfortunately, Yuuri laughs. “I will.” Dammit, how did he know what that means? “But will you call him?”

“No,” Yuri snarls out. “Tell him I’m fine.”

Yuuri sighs. “Sure,” he says. “But I don’t know what’s going on, but you seem not fine.” The sentence is slow and a little messy, but still in understandable Russian, and Yuri hates him for trying instead of just hanging up.

“Fuck you too, then.” Yuri hangs up.

He stares at the ceiling. His phone doesn’t ring.

He gets on Instagram. Nothing interesting.

Twitter. Nothing.

Snapchat. Nothing.

Instagram. Still nothing.

He watches the time change on his phone.

He calls Viktor.

“Why did you teach Yuuri how to say _dicks_ in Russian?” he asks as soon as the line connects.

Whatever Viktor was going to say is swallowed by laughter instead. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Yura,” he says. Yuri makes a sound of disgust. “If it helps, he can’t pronounce it quite right,” Viktor says.

“That does not help at all, asshole,” Yuri says.

There are a few seconds of comfortable silence, then Viktor asks, “Did you have a question, Yurochka?”

Yuri rolls his eyes at the nickname, but says, “yeah, actually. So, uh. How?”

Viktor doesn’t answer for a moment, and when he does, his voice is soft. “I think I just did, Yurochka. There was never a point where I can look back and say, ‘that’s it. That’s the moment I realized.’ I don’t have one. It was lots of little things until one day I didn’t think of myself as anything else.”

Yuri holds in a sigh. “Helpful,” he says.

Viktor chuckles lightly. “I’m sorry I can’t do more,” he says. “You’ll figure it out. Or you won’t. And it’s okay, as long as you’re honest with yourself about it all.”

“Easier for you to say since you already know,” Yuri says.

“Well, perhaps love has given me some insight.” He pauses. “Finally facing your feelings for Otabek?” Viktor asks.

Yuri coughs. “I—what? No, I don’t—Beka? No, what?”

Viktor laughs. “It’s okay, Yura! You’re in Almaty now, aren’t you? We’ve been waiting for you to admit it for a while now.”

“No!” Yuri half-shouts. “It’s not— _we_ ? _Waiting_? What the fuck?”

“No need to deny it! We’ve seen how you look at him!”

“Viktor,” Yuri snaps, “no. I don’t have _feelings_ for Beka. I met someone at a club, okay? Now shut up.”

Viktor is, miracle of miracles, speechless for a moment. The peace doesn’t last long. “Yurio! My boy! At a _club_? Not my innocent boy!”

Yuri hangs up.

When Yuri walks into the kitchen, Otabek is already there.

“Good morning,” Otabek says. Yuri just grunts in acknowledgement, and Otabek hands him a mug of tea.

Yuri is only halfway through his tea when Otabek asks, “Are you okay? You were already in bed when I got back, and I got back pretty early.”

“Yeah,” Yuri says into his mug. “I’m just drained, I guess.”

“Are you still okay with going out tonight?” Otabek asks.

“Are you kidding? Absolutely,” Yuri responds, actually feeling an emotion for the first time since last night. “I love when you DJ. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Otabek smiles softly, and Yuri busies himself with his tea.

“Yura, they’re outside,” Otabek calls.

“Two seconds!” Yuri calls back from the bathroom, where he has been painstakingly placing bobby pins in his hair to keep it from fluffing up and ruining his look.

“Yura!” Otabek calls just as Yuri has secured the last one.

“I’m done, god, calm down! Perfection takes time.”

Otabek raises an eyebrow at him, but holds the door open for Yuri. Yuri grabs Otabek’s bag and heads down the stairs, stopping at the bottom to wait for him. He hands Otabek’s bag back as Otabek reaches him, then follows Otabek to the car waiting for them at the corner.

“Beka!” the group already in the car cheers when Otabek opens the door. Otabek rolls his eyes and climbs to the back row of seats, grabbing Yuri’s hand and pulling him through with him.

“Hey, Yuri!” Kanat, the driver of the car, says over everything else. He’s the only one of Otabek’s usual friend group who Yuri hasn’t seen yet on this trip. He throws up a hand and a smile in acknowledgement before getting lost in the commotion of the car again.

At the club, Otabek hands Yuri his bag and has him bypass the bouncer, their trick for getting into clubs without having their IDs checked. They enter with no problem and begin setting up when Otabek stops Yuri.

“Hey, I still have time before my set starts. I can finish this on my own. Can you go grab me a drink?” He hands Yuri his card. “You can get something for yourself too.”

Yuri nods and maneuvers his way off the DJ’s platform and to the bar, card in hand, vaguely concerned. Otabek has always preferred not to drink before his sets, claiming that in the crowd it’s already hard enough to focus when he’s sober. Yuri pushes concern from his mind as he orders, worried that if he worries, Otabek will notice and worry and want Yuri to leave, and Yuri knows that Otabek wouldn’t want him to go home alone, and Yuri doesn’t want to keep Otabek from having a good time, and and and.

And he’s worrying, so he pulls out his phone, absentmindedly scrolling until his drinks are up. He doesn’t know when he got into the habit of overthinking, but he doesn’t like it. He takes a large gulp of his drink and heads back to Otabek.

“Here,” he says, handing Otabek the drinks to set aside so Yuri can climb back up the podium. Otabek grips Yuri’s arm as Yuri hoists himself up, and when he pulls Yuri up, Yuri stumbles, falling into him.

“Remind me,” Otabek says into his ear as he steadies Yuri, “how many times have you won gold in international competition?”

“Uh,” Yuri says, lost. “Six?”

Otabek can’t seem to hide his smirk. “Then how are you so graceless?”

Yuri punches him hard in the arm. “Fuck you, too!”

Otabek winks at him, and Yuri can’t seem to catch his breath. “Thanks for the drink,” Otabek says, wrapping Yuri back up for a quick hug, as if that will help Yuri breathe. “I’ll meet you on the floor in about two hours, okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says, but he feels frozen. Otabek smiles and gently nudges Yuri off the platform.

Yuri loses himself in the crowd. At first, he finds Kanat and Simaa and Alikhan and Samal, dancing and drinking with them until they disperse. Whether it was anyone’s intention to split to do their own thing, Yuri doesn’t know, but he makes no effort to find them again once they’re gone. He’s enjoying the feeling of being swept into things, and he may not be entirely comfortable in the press of the crowd, but he’s enjoying himself nonetheless.

He freezes when he hears the opening chords of his senior debut’s exhibition skate, slightly embarrassed at the memory of half-stalking Otabek across Barcelona. He had been so committed to finding Otabek, someone he’d only really known for a few days, that he put an intensity into it that he usually reserved for competitions, and with the perspective of a few years and a few drinks, he thinks he understands now why Otabek had wanted to be alone that evening.

When he looks up, Yuri is surprised to find Otabek watching him carefully—not that Yuri is difficult to notice in the crowd, being one of the few blonds in the room—with his usual unreadable expression. He squints at Yuri, something of a question on his face, and Yuri gives him a thumbs up from across the room. Otabek looks down quickly, hair flopping in front of his face, and Yuri moves through the crowd towards him.

At the end of the song, where Otabek had originally pretended to shoot Yuri, Otabek locks eyes with him, finger gun at the ready, then suddenly twists his hand to give Yuri the middle finger. Yuri puts a hand on his heart, still pretending to be wounded, but he can’t hide his laughter.

The mood shifts a moment later, when the song folds into something almost ethereal, calm but consistent, and Otabek won’t look up. He’s somehow blended the aggressive, electric end of the previous song to the raw, woodsy beginning of this one, like he’s put thought and time and care into making something that shouldn’t work melt into each other perfectly. Yuri watches him, so intensely focused on the board in front of him, and his whole body feels warm.

Yuri moves for the bar, suddenly desperate for another drink.

When Otabek finds him at the bar, Yuri is drunker than he’s ever been in public.

“Beka!” Yuri cries when he sees Otabek, and he launches himself at him. “Beka, here, here, take this, I don’t want it,” he says, and shoves a drink towards him.

Otabek sniffs it, and his lips curl unpleasantly. “What is it?” he asks cautiously.

“I don’t know, someone bought it for me. Beka! I’ll buy your next drink. I’ll buy your next _ten_ drinks. But you have to dance with me!” Yuri giggles. “Please dance with me?”

Otabek frowns. “Yeah, no, not right now, but soon.” He flags down a bartender to ask for waters, then turns back to Yuri. “How much have you had?” he asks.

“Enough,” Yuri says, closing his eyes and grinning wide.

The bartender comes back with two large glasses of water, and Otabek immediately puts one in Yuri’s hands. “Drink this whole thing, then we can dance.” Yuri obliges, then makes a grabbing motion at Otabek, who uses the moment to place the other glass in his hand. “This one, too,” he says to Yuri’s pout.

Yuri does his best to be cute after finishing the second glass, tugging playfully on Otabek’s sleeve to bring him to the dance floor, but he feels like he’s failed spectacularly when he loses his balance and ends up almost falling to the floor and pulling Otabek with him.

“Okay, no, we’re leaving, that’s enough,” Otabek says once they’re both back on their feet, and _no_ , this is not what Yuri had planned, he needs to dance with Otabek _now_ , but he finds himself unable to articulate that.

“Beka,” he whines instead, and Otabek puts an arm around Yuri’s shoulder and guides him out of the club and towards a cab.

“Nope, we’re going home,” Otabek says, and Yuri can’t find the words to say that he doesn’t want to go home, that he wants to stay here with Otabek, so he just nuzzles his face into Otabek’s neck and tries to breathe evenly.

When Yuri wakes the next morning with Otabek’s solid, warm arm holding his hips, he thinks nothing of it. They’ve shared a bed before.

But when he shifts and feels the full-body ache of his hangover and recognizes the taste of one-too-many and regret in his mouth, for a horrifying, disorienting moment, he can’t remember what happened the night before, he worries that maybe he’s ruined everything. If he’s going to ruin the best friendship he’s ever had, he’d like to at least be sober for it so he can remember.

He extricates himself carefully, doing his best not to wake Otabek, and goes to take stock of himself in the bathroom. The light hurts his eyes, but what little he can make out through his squinting screams _hungover idiot_ at him. He wants to scream.

Instead, he turns off the light and cries in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otabek plays the [Maya Jane Coles Remix](https://open.spotify.com/track/5MJjkC3m1nAJV3BdJqL1IZ?si=kaLJMLYKScuxTRmtDB4dXQ) of "Movement" in the club because, well...reasons.
> 
> I must say, I'm kind of unhappy with the direction this has taken, but it turns out, I don't have as much time to edit as heavily as I had hoped! I'm sorry! I promise this idea was good in my head even though it sucks on paper. Also, I mean it when I say this wasn't proofread, so please let me know any issues in continuity, grammar, or formatting so I can fix them!


	4. Would You Be So Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another unedited chapter! It is a bit shorter than previous chapters, but that's because I wrote one thousand words of another chapter when I should have been working on this one.
> 
> Special thank you to the wonderful [mika60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mika60/pseuds/mika60), who has been wonderfully helpful _and_ distracting on tumblr while I write! Thank you for the support! :)
> 
> ["Would You Be So Kind" by dodie](https://open.spotify.com/track/3ZiuxcBeRanTjfHzVBuuQe?si=wg0o4GDXR1ink6GwNNeX7w)

They don’t talk about it that morning. They don’t talk about how drunk Yuri got, or how he clung desperately to Otabek all the way into the apartment. They don’t talk about how Otabek wrapped Yuri up so carefully when he panicked at being left alone. They especially don’t talk about how Yuri crawled back into bed with Otabek after he showered.

It’s not that Yuri doesn’t remember now that he’s fully awake. He does. He’s not even ashamed of it, because it’s Otabek, and he can be sincere with Otabek.

It’s that when he snuck back into Otabek’s room and saw him sleeping there, so peaceful, with one of the plush cats Yuri had given him lying across his legs, Yuri felt at peace. When he crawled back into bed and Otabek had shifted in his sleep to make room for him, Yuri felt comfortable. When he curled into Otabek, nuzzling his head into Otabek’s neck like he used to when he was shorter, and smelled  _ Otabek _ , not leather or cologne, just clean sweat and warmth, Yuri felt at home.

Yuri isn’t going to shatter that memory by talking about it.

After a lazy morning together and several failed attempts to actually do something, Otabek’s phone chimes.

“Kanat wants to get the group together for dinner,” Otabek says.

“I’m down,” Yuri says. He hadn’t spent much time with them yesterday, and while he’s here to see Otabek, he also likes his friends.

Otabek texts a confirmation back, and Yuri goes back to scrolling mindlessly. His grandfather had sent him a video of Potya, and it sent Yuri into a spiral of his own social media, looking at pictures and videos of his cat. He lands on an Instagram post from about a year ago when Otabek was visiting Moscow. He’s holding Potya, gentle and unsure, and she’s belligerently pushing at his chin with her tiny paws. Otabek looks completely unfazed in the photo, but Yuri remembers fondly that, when Potya had jumped away in a huff, Otabek had turned to Yuri looking devastated. The memory warms Yuri’s insides.

“All right, you have three hours before I’m making you get ready,” Otabek says. Yuri rolls his eyes, but he lets it be.

That is, he lets it be until the time comes around. When Otabek starts poking at Yuri to get ready, all Yuri wants to do is stay in his spot spread out across three chairs, scrolling through Instagram. He had spiraled from cat photos to Otabek photos, and he’s enjoying going through tidbits of Otabek’s life, both moments he spent with him and moments before he even knew him.

“Yura,” Otabek says, and Yuri looks up just in time to get hit in the face with a stuffed bear the size of his palm. “Get ready.” Otabek smiles softly at him, as if inviting Yuri to throw the bear back at him, and whatever fight Yuri had in him when he sat up disappears.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and notices Otabek’s expression falter slightly. Yuri realizes abruptly that he would be content to stay here and observe Otabek’s face, the changes, his microexpressions, the way he opens his mouth slightly then bites on his lower lip when he wants to say something but decides not to.

Face flushed, Yuri runs into his room to change clothes.

Kanat chose a place close enough to Otabek’s apartment for them to walk to, and Yuri is absolutely not disappointed that they aren’t taking the bike there. Of course not. The helmet would ruin his hair.

The group is already seated at a table in the back when Yuri and Otabek get there, mid-conversation and wine. Simaa pours both of them a glass as they sit down, and Otabek swipes for the one in front of Yuri, downing half of it while holding his own out of reach.

“You asshole,” Yuri says to Otabek’s shitty grin, but he just sips primly at his half-empty glass. Someone here has at least been introduced to the concept of manners.

“Hey, Yuri,” Alikhan says, and Yuri drags his eyes away from Otabek’s smile. “We ended up losing you last night. You have a good time?”

Ignoring Otabek’s eye roll next to him, Yuri says, “Oh, yeah, maybe got a little carried away with the weird mixed drinks there at the end, but it was fun. It’s always a good time letting this asshole think he’s good at something.” The group around him fills with  _ ooh _ s and snickers, and they’re off, telling stories about failed pick-up-lines and drunken dares.

“...and then Sim comes in, and she’s been standing behind this girl the whole time, right? So she comes in, cuts Beka off, and asks the girl to dance, and she goes! She leaves Beka standing there staring after her and goes to dance with Sim!”

Simaa and Yuri, on either side of Otabek, elbow him and he rolls his eyes, but there’s the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and he puts his hands up good naturedly. “I’m not the best at charming women, what can I say? I can’t be good at everything.”

The whole table boos and shoves at him, but Yuri can’t help but feel a bit charmed himself.

Yuri doesn’t know who suggests that they go back to Otabek’s apartment to hang out for a while, but he can’t decide if he loves or hates them.

Without doubt, this is the most fun Yuri has had in a group in a long time. He’s in public among friends, not shoved in between unfamiliar bodies pretending the music connects him to something. He’s relaxed and far easier to laugh with the group than he has been in a while; he’d forgotten what it felt like to be comfortable with people, and he’s glad Otabek’s friends can give that back to him. He wants to hold onto this feeling for as long as he can.

But every time Otabek looks at him, Yuri feels on fire. He finds himself hoping that he and Otabek reach for the same thing at the same time, throwing himself to the side more when he laughs, kicking his legs out wider rather than longer under the table, just for the chance to brush against him. He needs to know if Otabek’s body ignites the way his does when they touch.

They walk home together, the others following behind, and Yuri feels Otabek trying to speak to him without saying a word. He has no idea what he’s supposed to hear, but he falls a few steps behind Otabek’s pace to keep from brushing shoulders and sharing looks. The street is too exposed for Yuri to try to figure this out now.

“Beka,” Alikhan calls from behind, “I’ll meet you there! I’m going to get something first!” He runs off without waiting for acknowledgement.

Yuri looks behind him to Samal, who was walking with Alikhan, but she just shrugs.

They clamber up the stairs to Otabek’s apartment, dropping onto chairs and cushions and the floor and tangling themselves around each other. Kanat continues with a story he was telling before they got in, and Yuri is only half following, his attention on the hands unbraiding his hair.

Yuri is halfway lulled to sleep by the absentminded yet methodical twisting and untwisting of his hair in Otabek’s hands when there’s a knock on the door. Otabek stands to let Alikhan in, and Yuri spreads out on his stomach on the floor, content to watch the night unfold.

The group cheers when Alikhan lifts up beer in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. They simply pass the bottle around, not bothering with glasses, and Yuri is pleasantly buzzed by the time Samal pokes him in the shoulder.

“Yura, you’re falling asleep,” she says quietly, no one paying her any attention except Yuri. “Do you want us to leave?”

He looks up and around, taking in the sight of a lived-in apartment with enthusiastic friends around. Otabek is talking animatedly to Simaa, and Kanat is making faces behind him while Alikhan tries and fails not to laugh.

“No,” Yuri says, voice softer than he expected. “Beka’s having fun.”

“Yura,” Samal says, not quite exasperated. “We’re here for you. We can see Beka any time. You can’t. We won’t mind if you kick us out for quiet.” They both turn to look as Otabek grabs Kanat by the ankle without looking behind him and pulls, Kanat only staying upright by balancing on Otabek’s head.

“No,” Yuri says again, not even bothering to hide his smile. “This is comfortable.”

“Yura,” Yuri hears but doesn’t quite register. “Yura, come on, they’re leaving.”

Yuri tries to focus on something besides the chip on the chair leg he’s been staring at for...how long? He isn’t sure. He squeezes his eyes shut and stifles a yawn, then lifts his chin off the floor. “Hm?” he asks as he meets Otabek’s eyes.

Otabek chuckles. “Comes on, Yura,” he says from where he’s crouched in front of Yuri, and then Yuri is being pulled up into a standing position, mostly supported by Otabek. Yuri takes a second to close his eyes and breathe, then finds his own feet and untangles himself from Otabek.

Each one of Otabek’s friends hugs Yuri goodbye, and he hugs each one back tighter than the last. It’s sentimental and not on brand for him and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when these are people he genuinely loves who expect nothing from him but friendship.

“Goodbye,” he says to them all as they shuffle out the door, then immediately turns to collapse onto Otabek.

“All right, go to bed,” Otabek says around a laugh and into Yuri’s hair.

“Beka,” Yuri whines, just tired enough not to care if he sounds childish.

Otabek laughs. “You smell like vodka and lamb, Yura,” he says, not sounding nearly grossed out enough by the combination.

“So do you,” Yuri lies, breathing in the scent of leather and musk and, ah, there it is, just  _ Otabek _ . “Beka,” he whines again and nuzzling his face further into Otabek’s shoulder, “can I sleep with you again tonight?”

Otabek freezes under Yuri, but then says, “yeah, of course. But only if you brush your teeth first.” Yuri groans, but Otabek laughs, and Yuri swears he feels lips pressed to his head. “Come on, Yura,” Otabek says, straightening Yuri out and dragging him to the bathroom, “brush your teeth, then sleep. You can do it.”

Yuri whines the whole way, but Otabek’s arm thrown over his waist as he falls asleep is worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going out of town for a few days, so the next update is at the absolute earliest 72 hours away, and that's assuming I have time while I'm gone to finish the next chapter. But don't worry, I'll get there! :)
> 
> Alternate chapter title: [ Do I Wanna Know?](https://open.spotify.com/track/5FVd6KXrgO9B3JPmC8OPst?si=_z2p0vV0RhO9KGy9Lsa8sw)


	5. First Time He Kissed a Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is up so late! I had real people things to do, and also I'm a little bit of a disaster. I don't know who let me become an adult because I am _bad_ at it.
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful support! I've just hit 300 total kudos across my works, and I know that isn't a lot overall, but to know that 300 separate times people have gone "wow, I appreciate this" about something I wrote? Incredible. Thank you so much. <3
> 
> Usual warning for alcohol use in this chapter.
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for the wait!!! :)
> 
> ["First Time He Kissed a Boy" by Kadie Elder](https://open.spotify.com/track/72ey4Cr2eXXwH9IMlhzuCV?si=sZg4S-q5Rcmg40vVhEdCuA)

“My brother won’t be there, if that makes it any better.”

Yuri doesn’t bother hiding his eye roll. “Beka, I already told you, it’s fine. You don’t need to find ways to make it ‘better.’”

“You can tell me if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

Yuri stares Otabek straight in the eye, flat and unimpressed. “I would like to go to dinner with your family,” he says.

For a whole second, it looks like Otabek isn’t going to fight him on it, but then he says, “but is that really how you want to spend your last night here?”

“We have other nights to do other things,” Yuri says, then wiggles from his chair onto the floor under the table so he doesn’t have to bother looking at Otabek anymore. “Besides,” he says from the floor, voice muffled from where his face is pressed into the carpet, “I like your family.”

“Mhm,” Otabek says, but he doesn’t press it. Which is good, because it isn’t exactly true. Yuri doesn’t dislike Otabek’s family, but it’s a stretch to claim he likes them. They’re reserved and quiet and aren’t exactly stuck-up, but Yuri can’t help but feel like he’s not enough around them.

And, well, sure, maybe Otabek and his parents aren’t that different, but Yuri’s never fallen into the same easy understanding with them that he has with Otabek. Still, they love Otabek, and Otabek loves them back, even though they’re all strangely quiet about their love, so Yuri exercises all of his admittedly-insubstantial self-control not to complain about it.

Yuri rolls over and pokes his head out from under the table. Otabek is staring blankly at his phone. “Are you going to do anything today besides wallow for no reason?” he asks.

Otabek blinks down at him. “Come on,” he says after a second. “Let’s go for a run.”

Otabek is quieter than usual on their run. At first Yuri tries to shove and trip him like he normally would, but when Otabek avoids him without retaliation, Yuri gives up. He’s learned slowly over the years that it’s better to leave Otabek to his own devices when he gets this way unless he wants to fight.

As Otabek broods, Yuri considers. He’s not sure what caused the change in Otabek’s mood from last night’s quiet enthusiasm to today’s quiet pouting, but Yuri doesn’t like it, and especially doesn’t like that if he doesn’t know what it is, he can’t _do_ anything about it.

Yuri is playing through everything from the past twenty-four hours in his head when he sees something dash into a bush on their path. Otabek, who is looking at the ground as he runs, doesn’t notice, but Yuri jogs faster until he gets to the bush, then stops to crouch down. He gasps loudly.

“Beka!” he whispers frantically, waving one arm in Otabek’s direction. “Beka, look!”

Yuri is already pulling his phone out to take pictures by the time Otabek stops next to him. “What?” he asks, slightly out of breath and not crouching to see for himself.

“ _Look_!” Yuri repeats, already twelve pictures in and cooing over the kittens in front of him. He wants to lean in closer to get a better shot, but he doesn’t want to scare the mom away.

“Oh,” Otabek says as he crouches down next to Yuri, one hand on Yuri’s shoulder to steady himself. “Hi, girls,” he says gently, slowly moving a branch to get a better look.

Yuri beams and takes more pictures, taking advantage of the better light Otabek has provided by moving the branch. “How do you know they’re girls? They could be boys. Cats don’t know gender.” He doesn’t need to look at Otabek to feel his eye roll.

“The mom is a girl,” he says, but otherwise stays quiet.

“Beka,” Yuri says after a moment, when Otabek is pulling away to stand. One of the kittens falls as the mom shifts, and Yuri whimpers softly as it wiggles itself up the few centimeters it needs to continue nursing. “Can we take them home?”

“They’re babies, they’re better off here with their mom than they are in my apartment. How would we even bring them back?”

A kitten mews softly, and Yuri turns his most pathetic pout onto Otabek. “I love them.”

“Yura,” Otabek says, aiming for exasperation but hitting fondness, “we can’t take them. You wouldn’t be able to bring them back to Russia. They’re too young. They’re going to be fine, okay?”

The glassiness in Yuri’s eyes is only half for show. “Okay,” he mumbles out, and takes Otabek’s hand to pull himself up. “One second,” he says as Otabek turns to go, then pushes apart a few leaves so he can see the cats from where he stands. “I love you, Edamame. Be safe.” He blows them a kiss, then jogs to catch up to Otabek.

“Did you name the cat?”

“She had a name. She looked up at me with those big green eyes and told me her name was Edamame. It’s not my fault you were too busy worrying about yourself to listen.”

“You named the cat.” He isn’t even bothering to hide his laughter.

“You’re heartless and don’t know love, Beka,” Yuri says, then shoves him.

Otabek laughs and shoves him back, and Yuri is glad they’re back to normal.

“Let’s go out,” Yuri says while they’re making dinner. “I need to drown my sorrows.”

Otabek snorts. “Over your great lost love Edamame?”

“Haven’t you ever loved and lost?”

“Not all within two minutes, no.”

“It was true love!” It’s quiet for a moment, save for the steady _chop_ _chop chop_ where Yuri is preparing vegetables.

“Yeah,” Otabek says into the quiet. “Yeah, we can go out. Is the same place okay?”

Yuri smiles to the cutting board. “Same place is perfect.”

Otabek stays quiet through the rest of the dinner preparations, but his contentment fills the apartment, and Yuri feels at peace.

Yuri checks his phone quickly during dinner, then sends a quick text before he can think better of it.

 **Yuri:** hey, Sekeng. are you free tonight? I’m going to the same place we met with my friend if you wanna meet there.

 **Serik:** absolutely!!! let me know when you’re there and I’ll go over!

Yuri smiles to himself, then flips his phone over. 

There aren’t as many people in the club as there were the first night Yuri was here, and the energy is more focused, less intoxicating. He doesn’t feel as electric as he did before, but stepping onto the floor still feels comfortable and familiar. For a moment the air feels still and cool, and Yuri feels the same white calm he feels on empty ice. He wonders if Otabek feels that when he comes here.

Yuri shakes his head when Otabek moves for the bar. “What about lost love or whatever?” he asks, and Yuri laughs and pulls him closer.

“Later. This is more important. We haven’t danced together the whole time I’ve been here.”

Otabek ducks his head ever so slightly and smiles, and Yuri has to let go of Otabek’s wrist immediately. The contact is making his brain too tight.

They dance together for a while, twisting around each other and laughing and making asses of themselves. The lights change as the canned music quiets under the introduction of the night’s first DJ.

“Oh, that’s Anar,” Otabek says at the announcement. He pulls Yuri closer to the front of the dance floor as Anar begins her set with one steady pop beat layered into something techno. It’s interesting in a way he didn’t realize such a predictable song could be; Anar clearly knows how to bring the best of a genre to life.

If Yuri is more impressed with the start of Anar’s set than he was with the start of Otabek’s last one, well, he doesn’t have to tell Otabek that.

“Bakyt!” Yuri is pulled from his appreciation of the music when Otabek calls to someone. “Hey!” He lets go of Yuri’s hand to wave at someone towards the front of the room, and Yuri follows him uncertainly towards them.

“Beka!” an aggressively beautiful woman greets him. She embraces him warmly, and the tenderness is striking against her heels and piercings and seafoam-dyed hair. Yuri stares at her while she says something that’s apparently hilarious to Otabek in Kazakh, and he thinks he recognizes her.

“Yura,” Yuri hears, suddenly startled out of his thoughts. “Bakyt, this is Yuri Plisetsky.”

Yuri holds his hand out to shake just as Bakyt says, “ah, the angry Russian!” He doesn’t have time to feel anything about that statement before Bakyt pulls him in for a hug. Just as he moves to hug her back, confused, she’s pulling apart and holding him at arm’s length, appraising. “I like him already,” she says, and Otabek laughs.

“Give him some space, Bakan,” he says, but then throws an arm around Yuri’s shoulders. “How have you been? I didn’t get to talk to you last time I was here!”

And that’s why Yuri recognizes her: Bakyt was the DJ before Anar when he first came here. He feels some of the tension from between his shoulderblades fade as he recalls her on the podium, focused on the board in front of her unless Anar was around.

“How do you know each other?” Yuri asks, only feeling slightly bad about cutting off their conversation. They were speaking too quickly in Kazakh with not nearly enough Russian for Yuri to follow. He thinks he’s allowed to be rude when he’s left out.

“We met through Anar,” Otabek says extremely helpfully, because yes, Yuri knows exactly how Otabek knows Anar.

Annoyance must show on Yuri’s face because Bakyt throws back her head in quick laughter. “Anar is my girlfriend.” She inclines her chin towards the podium, where Anar is mixing something Yuri can’t appreciate around this conversation. “She and Beka DJed at the same place a few times, then Anar brought him here. Beka’s been ruining this place with his bad music ever since, and the rest is history.”

Otabek laughs lightly around Yuri, then pokes him. “You two will get along,” he says.

“Yeah,” Yuri says, but his grin feels fake. “I’m going to get drinks. What do you want?”

Bakyt isn’t picky and sends Yuri off with a request for “literally any shots.”

“I really do like him, Beka,” Yuri hears as he walks away. Otabek says something gently in Kazakh, but Yuri isn’t sure what.

For how slow the club seems compared to the first night, the line at the bar is long. Yuri pulls out his phone, seeing a text from Serik from nearly half an hour ago. _Be there soon!_ Yuri grins softly.

“Yura! Found you!” he hears when he’s next to order, and then he’s wrapped up from behind by someone thin and soft.

“Hey, Sekeng,” he says through his giggles, then laughs harder when Serik disentangles himself to disapproving looks from the people around him.

“I’m sorry, I’m not ordering anything, I was just saying hello, I’ll just go now,” he says to anyone who will listen. He leaves to sit on the couches towards the entrance while Yuri orders his giant tray of shots.

He gets a vodka cranberry for Serik, too, because he can’t help but be endeared by him.

Serik hops up, far bouncier and cuter than anyone in a club has any right to be, when he sees Yuri leaving the bar with his drinks.

“Here, let me,” he says when he gets to Yuri, and while Yuri would definitely trust his balance better than Serik’s, he lets him take them to be nice and focuses on navigating them to Otabek and Bakyt.

“Look who I found!” Yuri says with a grin spread wide across his face as he gets back to Otabek. Otabek and Bakyt look up from where they’re leaning behind the DJ’s dais, talking enthusiastically with each other, and Otabek’s smile flattens.

“Who’s this?” Bakyt asks, not rude but definitely blunt, one sharp eyebrow angled up. Still, she turns to greet Serik warmly.

“Sekeng, you remember Beka? This is his friend Bakyt. Bakyt, Serik.”

“Sekeng?” Otabek says quietly as Bakyt and Serik smile equally blinding smiles at each other.

“Here, here, here,” Bakyt says suddenly, putting shots in everyone’s hand. “To unexpected friends!” she toasts, and Serik cheers before they all down their shots.

“Who’s dancing?” Serik asks after everyone is done pretending cheap bar vodka doesn’t burn on the way down.

“Obviously,” Yuri says, then goes to grab Otabek.

“Actually, I’m gonna sit out a little longer. I’ll meet you out there in a bit.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Bakyt says immediately.

Yuri looks at Otabek, who won’t meet his eye, then to Serik, who is already pulling lightly on his arm. “Let’s go, Yura!”

Yuri smiles but looks back to Otabek one more time, confused at where all of his earlier liveliness went.

Yuri is awful at keeping track of time on the dance floor, but he’s sure it’s been too long without Otabek.

Serik is incredibly, uncomplicatedly fun, and Yuri is happy to see him again, but he wants Otabek to be here. He hadn’t danced with him nearly long enough when they first got here, and he wants to rectify that as soon as possible.

“Hey, Yura,” Serik says, wrapping his arms around Yuri’s waist as the song shifts into something bubbling with bright percussion and English lyrics Yuri can’t entirely follow.

“Hey, Sekeng,” Yuri says, smiling into the touch and pulling them closer to the wall. He doesn’t want to be away from Serik, but he wants to be away from the crowd.

“How often do you come to Almaty?” Serik asks him, and Yuri blinks his confusion.

“Uh, once every year or two?” he answers, not sure why this is relevant.

“Last chance, then,” Serik says, then presses closer to kiss him.

Kissing Serik is, to Yuri’s genuine surprise, entirely unremarkable. Yuri doesn’t find himself wanting to pull away almost immediately, which is more than can be said about pretty much anyone else he’s ever kissed, but he doesn’t find himself following after Serik’s lips for more. He doesn’t break the kiss or try to pull away, because it isn’t unpleasant, but he finds his mind wandering during it, which is not at all what he expected. And he did have expectations, he can admit it; he hadn’t called Viktor confused about himself without thinking of this, and _oh_.

Yuri realizes the angle is wrong, the hips beneath his hands are too thin, the fingers cupping his chin are too long and well-manicured. When he moves a hand through Serik’s hair, it isn’t the texture he wanted, and brushing his hands against Serik’s face remind him that Serik is too delicate to be the person he’d pictured this with.

Yuri pulls away softly but quickly, no room in it for Serik to follow.

“I thought so,” Serik says, and he smiles softly at Yuri as he pulls himself away. “That’s okay.”

“What?” Yuri says, ever eloquent.

“You aren’t into me like that. It’s okay, I thought you might be but it was hard to tell, so I tried not to get my hopes up.”

“Sekeng, I’m sorry—” Yuri starts, but Serik cuts him off.

“No, it’s really okay, I don’t mind,” he says, and his smile is not as bright but just as genuine. “Don’t apologize. But can we still talk? You’re fun to talk to.”

Yuri nods. “Yeah, of course, you are too. But I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. I thought…” Yuri doesn’t know what he thought. That he felt the same? He doesn’t think so.

“Yura, don’t apologize. You were never leading me on, okay? We never talked about this, that’s all.” He pauses for a moment and puts his hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “I’m going to grab a drink. Do you want anything?” Yuri shakes his head no, and Serik squeezes his shoulder once before leaving him to push through the floor.

Yuri slumps back against the wall feeling defeated and tired. When he looks up a moment later, Otabek is walking towards him, eyes full of concern and something else Yuri can’t quite read.

“Are you okay?” Otabek asks from just beyond arm’s length, and Yuri resists the urge to close the space and press himself into Otabek to see if he feels something at all.

“Yeah,” Yuri says more weakly than he expected. He tries to look Otabek in the eye, but his stomach flips and his face flushes as he does, so he has to quickly look away. He isn’t sure what Otabek has seen, but he doesn’t want it to change anything.

Or maybe he does.

“Yurochka.” Otabek takes a step close and brings his hand to Yuri’s chin. The fingers he uses to lift Yuri’s head are the exact sort of calloused strong that Yuri had expected earlier. “Do you want to dance?”

Yuri tries to smile as he nods, and Otabek can obviously see through it, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wraps a light hand around Yuri’s wrist and pulls him gently off the wall. Yuri knows it’s just to bring him towards the center of the floor, but Yuri doesn’t want to lose himself in the crowd again. 

He wants to lose himself in Otabek.

Instead of walking with him, Yuri pulls Otabek back slightly and wraps him into a hug. He breathes him in and squeezes lightly, and Otabek carefully wraps his arms around Yuri in return.

When Yuri finally peels himself away, Otabek asks if he wants to leave, and as much as Yuri really wants to dance with him, a tiny “yes” pushes its way past his lips before he can stop it.

“Let’s go say bye before we go,” Otabek says. He twines his fingers into Yuri’s and doesn’t let go, even once they’re out of the club.

“Beka,” Yuri says when they’re back in Otabek’s apartment and a safe distance apart. They hadn’t held hands in the cab, but Yuri can still feel the sparks where Otabek’s fingers had folded around his. His heart rate still hasn’t calmed since they had found Serik in their goodbyes, and he had eyed their linked hands but hadn’t hugged Yuri any less enthusiastically around them.

Bakyt and Anar had seen it, too, and said nothing to Otabek or Yuri, but everything to each other in silent glances and cocked eyebrows.

“Yes?” Beka says from the kitchen, where he’s filling water glasses for them. Yuri sits at the table mostly in the dark, the apartment lit only by the light above the sink that Otabek has turned on.

“Can we talk?” Yuri asks stupidly, and he wishes he hadn’t. He wishes he could just blow past tonight.

“Of course,” Otabek says, setting a glass in front of Yuri as he sits down. “Drink that.”

Yuri grabs the glass but drink any, just stares into it while he thinks.

“Yura.”

“Hm?”

“At least take a sip.”

So Yuri does, if only for the extra second of time it buys him to think.

“Beka,” Yuri says again after he drinks. He’s out of prepared material.

“Yura,” Otabek says lightly and smiles.

Silence.

“Are you okay?” Otabek finally asks.

“Yeah,” Yuri says automatically. Then, before he thinks better of it, he asks, “did you see?”

Otabek stills. “See what?”

Even in the low light, Yuri’s glare is effective.

“Okay, yes,” Otabek says. “Are you really okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Yuri says again. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well.” Otabek suddenly finds his thumb nail fascinating. “Last time we were there.” He cuts off as if that were a perfectly complete sentence full of everything Yuri needs to know.

Instead of voicing that complaint, Yuri waits a moment for Otabek to continue, thinking about what he could possibly mean while he does.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says when he gets it. “No, that’s not it, that’s actually—I mean, I thought about it more and—”

“And?”

“And…” He thinks of what Viktor said. Honest with himself. He can do that. “I’m not… _not_ gay,” he says.

Maybe honesty is a process.

“Yura,” Otabek starts, and Yuri can hear it in his tone that he’s going to be too delicate about this.

“No, stop,” Yuri cuts in before Otabek gets too far. “I’m serious. Maybe I don’t know yet, but I really think I’m…not _not_ , but that’s all I have, okay? I just. Thought you should know that.” He loses steam at the end when he realizes how little he actually has to say about it. He still doesn’t know, but he’s starting to let himself think it, and that’s a better place to be than in denial.

“Okay,” Otabek says and places one hand over one of Yuri’s. Yuri is grateful for how dark the room is. Maybe Otabek can’t see his face turning pink. “What made you start thinking about this?” he asks.

“Well, I called Viktor,” Yuri says, screwing his nose up to show just how much he didn’t enjoy the conversation, much less admitting to having it.

Otabek chuckles. “Ah, always the best idea,” he says, and Yuri flicks his wrist.

“But I think, really...it was you,” Yuri says, forcing himself to maintain eye contact for as long as he can as his face turns from pink to red.

Otabek’s eyes widen slightly, and Yuri looks from his eyes to his lips as he opens his mouth the slightest, then bites his lower lip.

“What?” Yuri asks breathlessly, knowing Otabek won’t say anything uninvited.

“Are you sober? How much have you had?”

Yuri reels back a little, not sure if he should be offended. “Yes, only the one shot, I don’t know why you think I could only—”

“Yurochka.” Yuri falls silent. “I just wanted to make sure so I don’t do anything you regret tomorrow, okay?” Yuri nods.

Otabek brings both hands to Yuri’s and twines their fingers together for the second time that night. He rubs his thumbs softly over the knuckles of Yuri’s, and Yuri should feel embarrassed at how much the touch electrifies him, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Yuri doesn’t know how much time passes. He doesn’t care. He stares at each feature of Otabek’s face for as long as he wants, taking in the details of each, until Otabek leans forward.

“May I?” he asks, so quiet Yuri barely hears him, but Yuri manages to nod.

Otabek’s lips against his are cool and soft and exactly what he expected, and the angle is better this time, and Otabek lifts a hand to Yuri’s cheek and Yuri shivers under the callouses there, just the way he wanted them to be. Yuri moves his free hand to Otabek’s neck, and the soft bristles of his undercut feel right under Yuri’s fingers, and the soft puff of Otabek’s hair feels like home. Yuri sighs happily into the kiss, and he can feel Otabek’s obscenely long eyelashes brushing against his cheek, and that isn’t something he imagined but it feels so right that Yuri doesn’t know how he didn’t expect it.

Otabek pulls away too soon, but he rests his forehead against Yuri’s.

“That’s okay?” he asks, a hint of genuine anxiety in it.

“Perfect,” Yuri says, and this time, he’s the one who leans in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! I really do hope this made up for the long wait.
> 
> I did some research and realized I'm using the wrong diminutive for Otabek but oh well too late now I'm committed to it
> 
> Guess what? I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MrsCalculation) now! I know I'm late, but if you want to, please check me out!


	6. Messy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is up late! I had a couple work things come up.
> 
> ["Messy" by Kiiara](https://open.spotify.com/track/0BOEuUKoHdy8in20fG5smd?si=cePjmoSCRmWm6CdTzk_CJA)

When they fall into bed, Otabek is infuriatingly slow and cautious.

“Beka,” Yuri says into Otabek’s mouth, “if you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I will actually die.”

Otabek huffs out a small laugh and kisses Yuri slowly. If it weren’t so perfect, Yuri would complain, but he can’t think anything but _please_ while Otabek’s lips are on his.

“I’m trying to take this slow, Yura,” he says as he pulls away, and Yuri groans and pushes onto his elbows to chase Otabek’s lips.

“I’m leaving in, like, two days,” Yuri says as he pulls away again. “I don’t have the patience for slow.”

Otabek’s face melts into something affectionate even as his eyes light with desire. “I do,” he says, and pins Yuri back down.

They wake later than normal the next morning, Yuri keeping his eyes closed and not unwrapping himself from Otabek until Otabek speaks.

“I know you’re awake, Yura,” he says as he brushes at some hair falling the wrong way across Yuri’s face.

The happy noise Yuri makes at the touch surprises him, but he isn’t embarrassed by it. “I wanna stay here,” he says as he presses himself into the touch.

“Mm. We should probably make breakfast, though.”

“Breakfast can wait five minutes.”

Yuri feels Otabek laugh, but Otabek wraps him closer and presses a kiss to the top of Yuri’s head, so it’s okay.

They hadn’t actually done much the night before, not that Yuri hadn’t made a valiant effort to go further.

“I want to, too, Yura, but can we please just start small?”

It was the _please_ that did it. Otabek rarely asked for anything at all from Yuri, so to hear him ask so honestly and vulnerably for _not yet_ , Yuri knew it wasn’t the principle of the thing that had Otabek wanting to move slow; no, Otabek was genuinely anxious.

Yuri could absolutely respect that, and he could almost admit that he was, too. Where he had wanted to push past the nerves, Otabek wanted to work around them. It hadn’t made the night any less wonderful.

And Otabek had been completely willing to show Yuri how he could use his mouth other than for slow, torturous kissing, so really, Yuri had no complaints about how the night played out.

“What are you thinking about?” Otabek asks into the top of Yuri’s head.

Yuri rolls over and presses his lips to Otabek’s quickly. “You.”

Otabek crinkles his eyes in a smile. “I’m honored,” he says seriously, then disentangles himself just enough to sit up, pulling Yuri with him. “Come on, breakfast and then we can figure out what to do with the rest of the day.”

Only half a dozen eggs, some bread, and one fresh pepper are left suitable for consumption in Otabek’s kitchen, so they make due without fruit or real vegetables or meat in the breakfast they cobble together.

“We can go to the store and grab a few things later, if that’s okay,” Otabek says.

Yuri agrees, even if it means less time lounging around on top of each other during the day. They have to get just presentable enough to go out, which means Yuri can’t stay sprawled on Otabek’s bed forever, and he knows Otabek gets antsy if he doesn’t leave the house all day.

Otabek lets Yuri shower first, claiming it’s so he can make a grocery list, but Yuri knows it’s because he takes longer to get ready. He doesn’t offer that Otabek join him, knowing that won’t do anything to accelerate the process, but it’s a close thing.

When it’s Otabek’s turn in the shower, Yuri closes himself into Otabek’s room and stares at his phone. He finds himself dialling Yuuri before he can stop himself.

“Oy,” Yuri says when Yuuri answers. “Where are you? Is Viktor with you?” Yuri chooses to speak in English. He doesn’t feel like being an asshole to Yuuri. Yet.

“Yeah, we’re at home today. What’s going on?”

“Put it on speaker.”

There’s a quick pause, then Yuri hears, “Yurio, hello! Is everything all right?”

“I don’t only call when something’s wrong, you know.”

“You normally don’t call at all,” Yuuri says, and yeah, he’s got him there. “What’s up?”

Yuri starts talking before he can think better of it. “You know that thing we talked about, Viktor?” he says in quick Russian, not wanting to address Yuuri for this part of the conversation.

“Have you thought more about it?” Viktor answers in English, because he’s only ever considerate when Yuuri is involved.

“Yeah, I think I’ve gotten somewhere with it,” Yuri says, still in Russian. “So, uh, thanks,” he adds on at the end because it feels right.

“Oh?” Viktor is clearly waiting for Yuri to continue.

“Da,” Yuri says, then clears his throat and continues in English. “So I kissed Beka,” he says in a rush.

He hears Viktor scream while Yuuri says, “Yuri! Did it go well?”

“Yeah,” he says, and gross, his voice is all soft and happy. “Really well. It’s...nice.”

Viktor hasn’t stopped screaming in the background. “Congrats!” Yuuri says, apparently unaffected by his husband’s screeching. “Where is he now?”

“ _I want to talk to him!_ ” Viktor shrieks in the background. Both Yuri and Yuuri ignore him.

“Shower,” Yuri says. “We’re going to get groceries soon—”

“ _So domestic!_ ”

“—so I have to go in a minute, but. I’m nervous.” He hates how young he sounds, but there. He said it.

Viktor’s screaming gets quieter as Yuuri makes a soft sound of not-quite-sympathy, but it sounds like Yuuri is walking away, not that the screams are letting up. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he says, and Yuri appreciates that his tone isn’t significantly gentler than normal. “But you should talk to him. You should tell him that. I’m sure he is, too.”

“Right.” Yuri stands up, needing to go in search of clothes. He’s still wrapped in his towel.

“You don’t have to tell him that immediately,” Yuuri says when Yuri doesn’t say anything else. “But don’t put it off too long. You don’t want to avoid bringing it up until it becomes an issue. It won’t be a problem if you don’t let it become one.”

“Okay, _Mom_ , jeez,” Yuri says as he leave the room to find his suitcase. It’s still nestled by the pull-out couch.

“Don’t talk to your mother that way, Yurio,” comes Viktor’s voice, a little further away but not as screechy. Yuri grumbles lightly but doesn’t say anything in particular. “And, Yura,” Viktor says as Yuri hears the water in the bathroom shut off, “be safe. You can always call us if you need us.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Yuri says, but he has to admit, even he can hear the love in it. He really does appreciate having them, but he doesn’t need to tell them that.

The bathroom door opens. “Gotta go, hate you both, bye!” Yuri says in his messy Japanese, then hangs up panickedly.

Otabek appears in the entryway. “Still not dressed?” he asks, vaguely amused. He’s fully dressed and his hair is mostly dry.

“Yeah, well, I had to talk to the old farts,” Yuri says, busying himself with finding socks.

“Yeah, I gathered that from your yelling in Japanese,” Otabek says. “I didn’t know you spoke that much.”

“I don’t,” Yuri admits. “I know enough to get by if they abandon me to be gross together.”

“Being affectionate doesn’t have to be gross.”

Yuri meets his eye. “But when they do it, it is.”

Otabek smiles softly, and Yuri considers what Yuuri told him. _Talk to him_.

He decides not to ruin the moment.

Other than their trip to the store, they stay in for the day.

They settle into the space Yuri was sleeping in because it has a small TV, seemingly never used by when it’s just Otabek in the apartment. Otabek suggests a movie, and they put it on even though Yuri has no interest in it. He instead spends the time leaning into Otabek and scrolling his phone, only watching when something particularly funny floats in over Yuri’s thoughts. Otabek laughs aloud once, though, a subdued, single-chuckle ordeal, so Yuri appreciates the film.

What Yuri appreciates more are the soft touches Otabek keeps giving him: the brushing of fingers on Yuri’s neck as he plays with his hair, the poke in the side when Yuri giggles, the light weight of Otabek’s hand over Yuri’s after Yuri twists himself about on the pull-out bed.

They haven’t kissed since they left bed this morning, though, but Yuri tries not to worry about that.

Otabek puts on another movie, an animated one that only Otabek knows that Yuri likes, then extracts himself from where Yuri’s head is resting on his thigh.

“Just going to start dinner,” Otabek says to Yuri’s face. Yuri didn’t even know he was making a face. He tries to flatten it out, and Otabek stifles a smile, then tucks a loose strand of Yuri’s hair behind his ear. “I’ll come get you when I need you.”

Yuri lies back down, tossing his arm over his face and hiding the emerging flush in the crook of his elbow.

“Yurochka. Wake up.”

“Hnngh.”

“Dinner’s ready.”

Yuri rolls over and opens his eyes. The movie on screen is different, the third in the series instead of the first.

Unless Yuri really slept through two whole movies, Otabek skipped the second one because he knows it makes Yuri cry.

Yuri twists around to look at Otabek in the entryway, but he’s already ducking his head and moving back towards the kitchen. “Come eat, if you’re hungry.”

By the time Yuri gets to the table, rubbing his eyes and yawning a little, Otabek has set out a platter of manti and plates for them both. He’s filling glasses of water for them in the kitchen, and Yuri slouches into the seat next to the wall.

“You spoil me, Altin,” Yuri says as Otabek sets a glass in front of him. Otabek smiles like it’s a joke, but Yuri is serious; Otabek is accommodating Yuri so carefully, piling manti onto a plate for him and everything, when he hadn’t even helped make dinner.

“You’re my guest,” Otabek says as if it’s so significant. There’s a weight to it that Yuri can’t identify.

They eat in comfortable silence, Yuri shaking off the last cobwebs of sleep as he chews.

“I’m cleaning up,” Yuri says as soon as Otabek is done eating, and he grabs both their plates and runs into the kitchen. He laughs a little when Otabek comes up behind him and tries to nudge him out of the way. “Beka, no, seriously, I didn’t help you cook! I should do dishes.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Otabek says from where he’s ducking away from Yuri’s soapy hands. “That’s my fault. You don’t have to clean on your own.”

“Beka,” Yuri whines as he flicks soap suds into Otabek’s hair, “it’s my fault I fell asleep! I would almost be done by now if you stopped trying to butt in!”

Otabek stands suddenly, graceful and noiseless, and before Yuri can register what’s happening, Otabek has hold of his wrists. He pulls Yuri to his chest and leans until their faces are just centimeters apart. “If you’re trying to make up for something,” he says, then leans in the rest of the way to close the space between their lips. Yuri relaxes in Otabek’s grip, and Otabek releases Yuri’s wrist and instead winds his arms around his waist. “...I can think of better ways,” Otabek says when he pulls apart.

The dishes don’t get done that night.

Yuri wakes up feeling warm and slightly sore and completely relaxed, and he curls closer into Otabek, who sleepily pulls him closer. It’s the first time Yuri’s been awake before Otabek since he got to Almaty, and he thinks it should be awkward to wait wrapped in someone’s arms for them to wake up, but he can’t help but feel anything but happy. He presses his face into Otabek’s chest and breathes in the clean smell, hints of sweat from last night lingering around the scent of body wash, and, okay, objectively that’s gross, but Yuri cannot think of a more comfortable scent in the world.

He thinks this morning should be awkward. He’s sure that with anyone else it would be. He had given himself over to Otabek so completely, and Otabek had done the same in turn, and he feels like he should run away from this place and forget everything they had done together, but he can’t do it. He had never hesitated to beat a quick retreat the morning after with anyone else, but all he wants to do is fold himself into Otabek and never leave. Part of him is terrified at this development, but a small part of his brain tells him to enjoy it while he can. It isn’t a struggle to listen.

Eventually, though, the need for caffeine pulls at him more than the need to touch Otabek, so he goes to the kitchen to make tea. He blushes at the sight of dishes still in the sink and cleans them while he sets the water to heat.

Otabek shuffles in as Yuri is pouring two mugs of tea. He’s wrapped in a regular bed sheet instead of his usual blanket, which is around Yuri’s shoulders instead, but he still looks incredibly soft and inviting. Yuri fights the urge to kiss him as he comes to take one of the mugs. 

“Morning,” Yuri says as casually as he can manage. Otabek leans his head on Yuri’s shoulder for a brief second before going to the kitchen table. Yuri turns his face away so Otabek doesn’t see the flush on his face as clearly.

“Good morning,” Otabek says once he’s taken a sip of his tea. “Did you have a nice night?” he asks so casually, so normally, as if he and Yuri hadn’t slept in the same bed and didn’t know exactly what each one did the night before, exactly what new territory they’d mapped.

Yuri tucks himself into the blanket, which smells like Otabek, and busies himself with anything that involves not looking at Otabek. “Yeah,” he gets out. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Otabek says softly. “Yeah, it was really nice.”

Unfortunately, Yuri has run out of things to do that can keep him turned away from Otabek. He tries to breathe deeply and even out his facial expression, but he doubts he succeeds when he turns to join Otabek at the table. Otabek is polite enough not to mention anything, but his lips do quirk into the smallest, just-barely-smug smile.

“Yura.” Yuri braces for the embarrassing talk he’s not ready to have yet. “Are you still okay with going to dinner at my parents’ house tonight?”

“Oh,” comes out of Yuri before he fully catches up. “Of course, yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He hadn’t forgotten about dinner, but it had definitely been buried under more pressing thoughts in the past couple of days.

Otabek shrugs. “Just making sure,” he says, and they fall into silence.

When Otabek approaches the bike, Yuri cheers internally. They hadn’t once ridden the bike this time around, and Yuri has been hoping to go for a ride before he had to leave. It’s exhilarating in a way Yuri hasn’t been able to recreate any other way, and he falls back into trusting Otabek with his life easily. Both the loss of control and the proximity to Otabek electrify Yuri until he’s numb to the rest of the world. He doesn’t think he’ll ever find a high quite like it.

They reach Otabek’s parents’ house too soon, and Yuri peels himself off Otabek’s back more slowly than necessary. He waits for Otabek before walking towards the door, and Otabek grabs his hand to squeeze, then lets go just as quickly. Yuri blushes, and Otabek’s expression fills with silent laughter.

Otabek’s sister opens the door before Yuri and Otabek reach it, and she smiles widely at them both. “Beka! Yurga! It’s nice to see you!” She greets them in Russian, and Yuri can’t help but feel a little bit awkward encroaching on their home and forcing them to speak his language.

“Hello, Kymbyng,” Otabek says warmly as Kymbat reaches for him. Yuri stands just behind them only slightly uncomfortable but very glad to see Otabek looking so relaxed.

“Come in, come in, Mama will want to see Yurga immediately!” she says, and she ushers them into the house. Yuri can smell flavors he can’t identify warming the air, and he calms a little into the feeling of _home_. Otabek’s family may be different from his own, but it’s mostly a comfortable difference that Yuri doesn’t quite understand. He can’t help but be reminded of his grandfather when he smells such extensive home cooking.

“Yura,” Otabek’s mother says when she spots him looking around the small entryway while Kymbat tugs Otabek into their dining room. Her voice is solid but welcoming, and Yuri can’t help but stand a little straighter. “It’s good to see you again,” she says and smiles lightly.

“It’s good to see you, too, ma’am,” he says, and presents the flowers that he had bought earlier this afternoon to her. They had survived the trip over with only a few leaves blowing away, and Otabek’s mother eyes them with both appreciation and expectation.

“They’re lovely. Thank you.” She says it as if she doesn’t understand their presence, but appreciates the oft-repeated gesture anyway. Yuri brings flowers every time he sees Otabek’s parents, enough that Otabek had stopped suggesting that it was overkill and started silently following Yuri on his quests to the market to find something suitable.

After a few moments of awkwardly standing around, Otabek’s mother looks up, a smile hidden in her features. “You seem happier. I’m glad.” Yuri starts, and her hidden smile changes to silent laughter. “It’s true. But you don’t have to stand around here, boy. Go make yourself useful. Entertain Kymbyng and Bekang for me so they don’t try to eat my food before it’s ready.”

Yuri smiles at her, and it feels surprisingly genuine. “Yes, ma’am” he says, Lilia in the back of his mind nodding once at his manners. “Please let me know if you need me.”

“Yura,” she says gently, “you have already done more than enough.”

Yuri rushes into the dining room to catch up with Kymbat.

Dinner goes smoothly, with Yuri relaxing into the flow of conversation a few minutes in. Otabek’s father, who is terrifyingly broad and silent, says nothing but a polite greeting to Yuri, then they’re all occupied by half a dozen Kazakh dishes Yuri still can’t say he’s familiar with, even after years spent around Otabek. Their conversation is punctuated by chewing and swapping dishes, leaving no silences awkward enough for Yuri to feel pressured to fill in. Yuri praises Otabek’s mother’s food, and her silent smile brightens. Under the table, he feels Otabek’s leg press against his, and Yuri inhales deeply, revelling for a moment in the simplicity of it all.

He knows he needs to talk to Otabek. He will. But not yet.

“Beka,” Yuri says as they leave, “can we stop to grab some beer or something? Spend the rest of the night in with drinks or something?” Otabek’s family doesn’t drink at all, and Yuri finds himself itching for it after holding himself together during dinner.

Otabek doesn’t look at him when he answers. “We still have some beer at home.”

“Not much, only two bottles.”

“There are only two of us.”

Yuri rolls his eyes as Otabek settles on the bike. “I think we can handle more than a drink each, Beka,” he says as he settles in behind him.

“Okay,” Otabek says after a beat. “We’ll stop on the way back.”

He turns on the bike before Yuri can respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yurga" is an augmentative form of "Yuri," which is used to be intimate or familiar with someone who is your senior/whom you respect! It's often used for brother-like figures in Slavic families, though it can also be used as a pejorative.
> 
> I! Hate! Writing! Sex! I am so bad at it, which is why this basically just fades to black, I'm sorry!!!
> 
> For those of you who dislike angst, be warned: next chapter may not be for you.
> 
> Alternate chapter title: ["Last Dance" by Dua Lipa](https://open.spotify.com/track/1oXHXIB8rHgwHSsPRNjEzn?si=FOKHYfyaQeiB6abk84ZekA)


	7. Lost It To Trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned: angst!
> 
> ["Lost It To Trying" by Son Lux](https://open.spotify.com/track/7frqaCMi7gVCD7JBuDrmEd?si=YvMOWCpGRoKunlssNaFg-A)

The morning Yuri is to return to Russia, he wakes up to an alarm and Otabek’s arms wrapped around him.

“Mm.” Otabek holds him tighter for just a second, places a lazy kiss to his neck, then lets him go. “Go finish packing, Yura,” he says without opening his eyes.

Yuri snorts. “You’re so helpful, Beka,” he says, but he disentangles himself with nothing more than an affectionate ruffle of Otabek’s hair.

Otabek makes a soft, happy noise and presses into the touch, and Yuri can’t help but give a tiny chuckle at the sight of it.

Yuri leaves to wander the apartment, gathering bits of himself as he goes. When they got in last night, Yuri had started packing, but quickly became too otherwise occupied with Otabek to finish. He’s not particularly worried about leaving anything, since Otabek can just mail it to him or bring it to him at their next event together, but he looks diligently anyway, not wanting to clutter Otabek’s tidy apartment. He slips into the walled-off space that served as his room and takes in the sight. It’s been days since he last slept in this bed, instead using it to spread out clothes that he now needs to fold to re-pack. His phone charger moved days ago from the plug next to the pull-out couch to the plug behind his side of Otabek’s bed, and wow, _his side_. He feels his face get hot and is sure he’s turning a horrible shade of red.

As he folds, he thinks about how to address this _thing_ with Otabek. He isn’t sure what Otabek wants, and he isn’t even sure what he wants, but he knows he doesn’t want whatever this is to end. He’s never felt so comfortable with someone, and he’s never spent more than a night in a woman’s bed before he sneaks out, never to see her again. Those encounters had always left him feeling to unclean, like something wasn’t right inside him, but with Otabek, he feels so perfect. In just a few nights, he has given Otabek everything he could physically, but it’s more than that: each night they had fallen into bed with no expectations, with nothing but the feeling of _home_ while wrapped in each other’s arms, and Yuri doesn’t think he’s felt so whole and warm before.

This is it, he decides. This morning is the last chance Yuri has to tell Otabek all this, his last chance before distance makes the decision of what’s next for him. Even if Otabek wants nothing more than this strange casual thing they have, or even if he never wants to do this again, he deserves to know that it’s been special to Yuri to smile seductively at someone at night, then lazily to them the next morning. Yuri is going to tell him that today, now, as soon as Otabek is awake enough for it.

Finished packing his room, Yuri moves into the kitchen for breakfast. He sets out fruit and bread on the counter and digs through the cabinet until he finds the tea he knows Otabek prefers. He’s rummaging through the fridge, looking for anything he can make nicely enough to be worthy of having an adult conversation over, when Otabek shuffles in and wraps himself and his blanket around Yuri.

“Are you finally up?” Yuri asks through his giggles.

“Hm, almost,” Otabek says, nuzzling into Yuri’s neck. He’s quiet for a second before he says, “I wish you didn’t have to go,” and Yuri melts.

“I wish you could come with me,” he says, turning around with random contents of the fridge still in his hands.

Otabek smiles fondly. “Not this time, Yura,” he says. His eyes shift to the contents of Yuri’s hands. “You weren’t planning on having that right now, were you?” he asks, inclining his chin towards the bottles Yuri is holding.

Yuri looks at the beer bottles he’s holding in one hand, all that remains of what they bought last night, and laughs. “Jesus, Beka, even I wouldn’t drink this early, who do you think I am?” He smiles lightly, but Otabek’s smile seems out of place.

“Mhm,” is all Otabek says, and he turns to start chopping up fruit.

It bothers Yuri for reasons he doesn’t quite get. “Beka?” he asks as he puts everything—two bottles of beer and a too-old looking smoothie, gross—on the counter.

“Hm?” Otabek says, and it bothers Yuri. When Yuri doesn’t respond, Otabek looks up at him briefly, then goes back to cutting fruit. “I just worry that you drink so much,” he says mildly to the cutting board.

“Beka,” Yuri says, exasperated, “I just like to have fun, I’m not an alcoholic.” He tries to laugh it off. “Russian stereotype much?” he says, but it falls flat.

Otabek puts the knife down, but he doesn’t look up. “The Yuri I know wouldn’t even so much as look at alcohol without thinking of how it would ruin his meal plan, that’s all.”

Yuri struggles not to roll his eyes. “Yeah, fifteen year old Yuri, maybe, and besides, it’s the off season,” he says, aggression coloring his tone towards the end. “I can do what I want, Beka, I’m an adult.”

“Barely,” Otabek says so quietly Yuri isn’t sure he heard him right. He turns to Yuri. “I just don’t want to see it become a problem, Yura,” he says softly, a firmness to his voice Yuri doesn’t know. He returns to the fruit.

“Otabek,” Yuri scoffs, “it’s not a problem. It’s not going to be a problem. I don’t see why it bothers you.” He moves to put everything back into the fridge, looking anywhere but at Otabek. “Stay out of shit that doesn’t concern you,” he mutters into the fridge door.

There’s a dull _thunk_ as Otabek places the knife down forcefully. “Doesn’t concern me?” he repeats, hinting incredulity yet maintaining his usual monotone. “Yura, how does this not concern me? Your whole life concerns me. I care about you. It would be shitty of me not to address something like this.”

Yuri flips his hair back and leans against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re my friend, Beka, not my mother, not my coach, not my fucking teacher or choreographer or _anything_ , Beka, you are not _anyone_ who has any right to tell me how to live!”

Otabek twists around, visibly angry now, and Yuri is too shocked for a second to register what’s happening. Otabek stands a meter in front of him, breathing deeply as if to calm himself, staring Yuri down, and a part of Yuri is impressed that Otabek—quiet, gentle, pacifist, six-centimeters-shorter-than-Yuri Otabek—is capable of intimidating him.

But Otabek doesn’t mean to intimidate. He looks down and rolls his shoulders forward, forcing them down despite his stress, and speaks with deliberately-chosen words. “People do not have to have a stake in your success to care about you, Yura,” he says. He breathes in deep. “I would be sabotaging myself if I made your success my priority.”

“Then stop doing it,” Yuri cuts in.

Otabek glares but continues as if uninterrupted. “That’s not why I worry about you. That’s not why I try to make sure you’re okay. I care about you, perhaps more than I have any right to, and for you to pretend that the ways you may hurt yourself don’t concern me is more than misguided. It’s cruel, Yura. It is cruel for you to pretend that I have no reason to care about you other than the number of medals you’ve won.”

“What other reason is there?” Yuri’s voice is raised near shouting now, but not quite there. “You don’t get to tell me that you became so interested in me nearly nine years ago because you cared about me, you don’t get to claim that it was anything other than my skill that drew you to me. Fuck the _eyes of a soldier_ bullshit, you didn’t know me then, you couldn’t possibly tell me things about myself, you just projected what you wanted to see there. You don’t care about me, asshole, you just care about what you want me to be!”

“Yura, I want you to be good because I care about you and I know it’s important to you, not because you’re only worth who you are at your best. God, Yura,” Otabek chokes out, voice hitching on Yuri’s name, “I wouldn’t care if you’d never made it through a qualifier, I wouldn’t care if you gave up everything you had right now to become a painter or an architect or a banker or whatever! I just want you safe and happy, Yura, that’s it!”

“You couldn’t care about me now if you hadn’t seen me for nothing but talent then, and you wouldn’t have stuck around if you didn’t see the same in me now!” Yuri knows he’s creeping up on hysterical, and he isn’t sure how much sense he’s making, but _no_ , Otabek is just like the rest and Yuri needs him to see that, that no one has ever seen Yuri as a person first, and Otabek is no different. “Are you fucking happy? Are you happy when you get to see me fall, that you’re the one who will see first what it looks like when I’m not the best anymore? Is that what this has all been about, looking for the signs of me falling apart so that you aren’t shocked and broken when you see some kid you thought was perfect fail in front of everyone, so you get to prepare for your best while I fall?” Yuri stops, his voice too watery to sound angry anymore. He breathes in to reset himself, but Otabek takes the time to interject.

“God, no, Yura, that isn’t it at all. Have you heard a single thing I’ve said? I care, and I don’t know how to make that more obvious. I wish you cared about yourself because you are so much more than this, you’re not just the sum of your scores and your number of medals, you’re a whole person even without skating! I want you as you are with or without it, Yura, because I love you! How much more obvious can I make it that I love you no matter what!”

Yuri sucks in a painful breath, but he refuses to stand down and let the press of silence in the room win. “Yeah, well, tough shit,” he says, hoping the acid in his tone drowns out the quaver. “You’re stuck caring about me alone, because I don’t love you.” The words burn his tongue as he says them, but he refuses to take them back.

Otabek’s face is open with hurt, and Yuri revels in finally getting the right reaction out of him for half a second before his stomach flips over. If he has to look at Otabek any longer, he’s going to be sick.

Yuri gathers everything he collected from around the apartment off the kitchen table and brings it into Otabek’s room, slamming the door behind him and throwing the lock. He lets the door takes his weight, then sinks to the floor.

Yuri opens the door, suitcase packed except for what he hasn’t gathered from the bathroom. He hurries in, grabs what he needs, and heads to the front door with his things.

He hesitates before he speaks. “I’ll text you when I land,” he says, not turning to look at Otabek where he’s sitting at the table. He’s felt Otabek’s eyes on him the whole time.

“You’re leaving already?” Otabek asks, his voice even softer than usual. “You don’t have to be at the airport for nearly six hours.” It feels restrained, like he has more to say but doesn’t know how to make it fit the conversation.

“My cab will be outside in two minutes.”

“Oh.” There’s a strange sort of silence, like Otabek truly doesn’t know what to say, rather than just looking for the best way to say it. “I can go with you,” he settles on.

“It’s okay,” Yuri says, and he leaves the apartment without looking back.

Otabek doesn’t follow.

His flight isn't until mid afternoon, so he has a few hours to kill before he actually needs to be at the gate. He had planned on spending that time with Otabek, arriving at the airport with a reasonable amount of time before his flight rather than an extensive amount, but he can’t bear the thought of it now. The driver drops him at departures, and Yuri seriously considers turning around and taking another cab to a cafe in the surrounding area, but he sucks it up and goes inside.

Security is an all-too-familiar hassle, and Yuri finds himself not nearly occupied enough for distraction. As soon as he’s through he finds a coffee shop with an empty corner table and pushes himself into it, burying his head in his hands and breathing in deep to stop from screaming.

When he finds himself at some sort of equilibrium, he pulls out his phone to text Serik. _Leaving Almaty now, it was nice to meet you and be sure to stay in touch!_

Serik responds a little too quickly, if Yuri were one to judge, but he’s not. _I hope your flight is nice!_ Yuri’s screen reads, then, _let me know when you’re back! you can even sleep on my couch if you need a place._

Yuri gimaces. _I probably won’t be for a while but I’ll let you know. let me know if you’re ever in Moscow or St. Petersburg and I’ll make an excuse to find you_

Serik responds with a handful of smiling emojis, and Yuri closes out of the message. He can’t deal with so much sunshine right now.

He calls Yuuri.

(He needs to stop making a habit of this.)

“Yuri?” Yuuri answers just as Yuri is about to hang up.

“H-hi.”

“Oh, Yura, what’s wrong?”

Yuri immediately starts crying.

“Shh, shh, Yura, breathe, okay? In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four…”

He breathes with Yuuri until he stops feeling like he’s going to choke on the air, then hiccups a little into the line. “I...sorry,” he says, not knowing what to do. He wants to hang up, embarrassed this happened, but he also doesn’t want to cry alone in an airport.

“Don’t apologize,” Yuuri says immediately. “Is there something I can do?”

“No,” Yuri says, the word drenched in honesty and laced with misery. “I don’t think anyone can do anything.”

“Okay. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, or do you want a distraction?”

Yuri wants to talk about it. He knows he needs to, the same way he needed to talk to Otabek about what they had and lost before they even got a chance. But.

“I...I don’t think I have the words for it yet,” Yuri says.

“Do you want me to get Viktor? He’s out right now, but—”

“No, don’t get him, that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.”

Yuuri lets them sit in silence for a moment, unbothered by Yuri’s unwillingness to explain.

“Can you…Can you just talk about random stuff? Anything works,” Yuri says.

“Well, Viktor’s out with Makkachin right now while I finish making lunch, then after that we’re going to the rink to help out the triplets. They’re getting really good, you know, but still want us around all the time to critique their every move. I’m not so good at that, really, but I think Minako…”

They go back and forth sharing nothing they don’t already know with each other, punctuated by the sounds of chopping vegetables and running water in the background on Yuuri’s end. Yuri asks after Yuuko, and Yuuri asks about how excited Yuri must be to see Potya again. As Yuri talks about all the cute pictures his grandfather had sent him of her doing dumb cat things, Yuri’s phone beeps in his ear with new messages. Yuuri has sent a dozen or so pictures of Makkachin, including a few less-than-flattering ones of Viktor choking on dog fur after he and Makkachin had curled up too close for a nap. Yuri smiles around the stinging in his eyes and saves them to his phone.

“Yura,” Yuuri says when the conversation has reached a natural lull, “Viktor will be back soon and I’ll have to go. But you know you can always talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah.” It comes out tiny. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

“Always.

Yuri’s vision starts to blur again, and he blurts out before he can stop himself, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

“What happened?”

The air hurts Yuri’s lungs. “I…” he stops, realizing not for the first time how idiotically cruel he can be. “I fought with Beka, I yelled at him and told him I didn’t care about him, and I walked out and I’ve been hiding at the airport to fly back to Moscow instead of talking to him about it, and he didn’t even try to stop me, Yuuri, he didn’t try to stop me because I’m not worth it, and he looked so hurt but he didn’t fight back, and I don’t know what to do, I fucked it up and I don’t know how to fix it, and I—”

“Yurochka,” Yuuri says, and Yuri is silenced by the sound of his nickname on Yuuri’s lips. He’s never heard Yuuri call him that before, and it sounds so stern yet tender at the same time, and if he weren’t already crying, well.

“I promise, Yura, you haven’t messed anything up,” Yuuri is saying when Yuri comes back to himself. “Viktor and I are going to be in Russia again in a few days, so we can help you figure out something then if you want. But for now, please just breathe. Make sure to eat something. Do you want me to stay on the line until your flight?”

Yuri will never admit how much he wants to say yes, but he looks at the time and how long it still is before he boards, so, “no. I’m not that helpless.” _Thank you_ , he means.

“Call if you even think you may change your mind,” Yuuri says. Yuri hears a thump and a light bark in the background. “Viktor just got in. Do you want to talk to him?” Yuuri’s voice sounds much brighter, but not in his _I love Viktor_ way.

“No, it’s okay. And please, could you not…?” He doesn’t finish the thought.

“Of course I won’t, Yura.” Of course Yuuri understands. “Call when you land, okay? It doesn’t matter what time it is, just let me know you got in safe.”

“Okay. Thank you.” _I love you and I should say it more_.

“I know. See you soon.”

The lack of communication from Viktor means Yuuri hasn’t told him, but he does get a single text from him. It has a picture of a pudgy tabby that Makkachin is sitting some distance away from, curious and playful but careful not to startle. It has a cat emoji followed by a rainbow of hearts.

Yuri sobs in his corner of the coffee shop.

Yuri finds an outlet near his gate and pretzels himself into the uncomfortable chair nearest it. The mocha he sips at is kind of shitty, but the caffeine tightens his focus, and he’s able to stare at dumb videos of people eating too much fast food and sucking at ballet on his phone without thinking too much. He finds a few nicer videos in the mix, too, some with genuine artistic expression to them, and he watches those intently, wondering if he can shape a routine out of any of this music.

Then he finds a video of dog people cat-sitting for the first time and pushes skating out of his mind.

The flight is smooth, and Yuri spends it staring out the window and listening to potential free skate music until they land. He’s too numb to work himself into a panic about the flight, which is, surprisingly, a nice thing.

He squeezes his grandfather into a tight hug before he puts his suitcase into the trunk of his tiny car, and as Yuri prepares to fold himself into the front seat, his grandfather says, “I brought you someone.”

When Yuri opens the door, Potya meows at him, terrified from being in the car but excited to see Yuri again, and Yuri scoops her up and holds her to his chest. He presses his grandfather into another, gentler hug, careful not to squish Potya too much in it, and forces tears to stay behind his eyes.

_Made it back okay_ , he sends to Yuuri, a picture of Potya’s tiny face up close attached to it. Yuuri sends back, _Chin up, your girl needs you!_ His grandfather hums out of tune next to Yuri, and for just a second, everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: ["I Don't Love You"](https://open.spotify.com/track/56DtlpHeMFHUIRf60GpBqa?si=zpzf6PBZSIO9bOCt4YltDw) >:]


	8. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is up late! I'm in the process of moving across the country and I've been very stressed and very sad about it, so writing has been hard. This is definitely unedited, so please call me on errors so I can fix them!
> 
> ["Haunted" by Nekokat](https://open.spotify.com/track/47p4D60sMDGfMCKbyssb35?si=tkF0yXMyQsi7sDlztVUERQ)

He’s midair of a triple axel when the relative peace of the rink is destroyed.

“Yurio! Beautiful form!”

Yuri feels himself coming too close to the ice too quickly, and the outside of his blade hits the ice too soon. He throws his other foot down to balance himself and barely keeps from falling. He hasn’t underrotated an axel like that in years.

Viktor laughs far too round and loud. “I spoke too soon!”

Yuri doesn’t bother with a response, just shoots Viktor and Yuuri a “fuck off” look before setting up to do it again. It’s nearly flawless this time, even if he wobbles just a little bit on the landing, but it’s good enough of a _fuck you_ that he’ll accept it. Yakov calls for him to take his break, so Yuri makes his way out of the rink and to his water bottle. Mila is in a stretch next to Yuri’s stuff, also off the ice while Yakov talks to Viktor and Yuuri.

“There’s a whole giant rink and you can’t find another place to stretch besides right next to my stuff?” Yuri says. There’s no heat behind it, and she knows it.

“You put your stuff where I normally stretch,” she says, so unfazed that she doesn’t bother lifting her head to look at him.

He doesn’t answer, instead leaning against the wall as he takes a long drink of water and checks his phone. He has a handful of new messages from Serik containing weird memes, but otherwise his notifications are uninteresting.

“Are you smiling?” Mila asks. Yuri hadn’t noticed that she had righted herself, and he quickly smothers the slight upward pull to the corner of his mouth. “You are! You’re smiling! Ooh, who is it?” She tries to grab his phone, but he twists out of her way and holds it out of her reach. It’s one of the few perks of getting so tall over the years: Mila can’t bully him as much.

“None of your business, hag,” he says, then realizes how incriminating that sounds. “Who says it’s a person anyway? What if I just saw a really good cat?”

“That isn’t your cat smile,” she says smugly, and does he really have a specific cat smile? “Tell me tell me tell me,” she says, as if repeating herself obnoxiously is likely to get him to comply.

“It was just a meme!” It isn’t a lie, even if the meme itself wasn’t that funny. He just likes picturing Serik’s laugh when he sent it to him.

“Liar,” Mila says, and sticks her tongue out at him, but she drops it. They go back to companionable silence, and Yuri is honestly glad to have her. 

Yuri’s phone buzzes as he scrolls through Twitter. _otabek-altin just posted a new photo_ , the banner at the top of his screen says. Yuri hesitates, his finger still over the notification for long enough that it disappears before he decides if he wants to click on it. Eventually he swipes to Instagram, scrolling until he finds Otabek’s post. Yuri breathes in, sharp, and it makes him realize he’d been holding his breath.

_Found them by my apartment, then found them a good home. #rescuecats #edamame_

“What is it?” Mila asks when she sees Yuri’s face. “Are you all right?” When he doesn’t respond, she leans over to look at his phone, and he angles it towards her, then hands it to her as he slumps against the wall and to the floor.

“Aww, cute!” Mila says above him. “It would have been nice if he had kept one, though. You would lose your mind if Otabek had a cat.” She looks down at him, grinning, but her eyebrows knit together when she sees his face. “Yura?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. Yeah, he would have loved to keep the cats. He would have loved to keep them last week, when he met them and Otabek told him no. He would have loved to get them to a vet and get the mom spayed and find them a home, and he would have loved to see Otabek hold a kitten ever so gently against his chest to carry it home.

Instead, he gets to see a picture after the fact of three kittens curled up against their mom in a cardboard box in what looks like Otabek’s bathroom, Edamame looking at the camera with _don’t touch me again_ eyes but relaxed ears, her tail mid-flick in the picture. Otabek hadn’t texted Yuri about the cats, hadn’t even tagged him in the post, and it shouldn’t bother Yuri so much, but it does.

Mila slides down next to him and hands back his phone. “What’s up?” she asks a little too casually.

“Nothing,” Yuri says unconvincingly into his knees.

Mila doesn’t respond for a second, just quirks an eyebrow as she looks him over. “Uh-huh.”

Yuri tries to suppress a sigh, but he breathes out too loudly anyway. “It’s really nothing,” he says, tilting his head away from her. He can see Viktor still talking animatedly with Yakov while Yuuri watches, unmasked affection and a hint of confusion on his face.

“It’s not,” Mila says, then pokes him in the cheek. She sighs lightly when Yuri doesn’t react, pulling her hand away and into her lap. “So Otabek really is straight, huh? I’m sorry.”

Yuri clears his throat to cover a choked breath, but he doesn’t even have the energy to fight about it. What should have been an indignant squawk dies as a sigh. “What the fuck, Mila, no,” he says instead. “I mean, he’s not, but that’s none of your—why would that bother me?”

She laughs like she’s startled. There’s no malice behind it, but it still irritates Yuri. “I know how it is, Yura,” she says gently. She places a hand on his and looks him in the eye. “I really am sorry.”

“That’s really not it,” he says, ignoring whatever moment she’s trying to have. “We just...had a fight, is all.” It’s too simple, but it’s true enough.

She clucks at him sadly. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says, and it bothers Yuri less this time. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yuri looks at her, considering for a moment. Does he want to talk about it? If he does, does he want to talk about it with her? He hasn’t mentioned anything to anyone since he broke down on the phone to Yuuri a few days ago.

He’s about to respond when, “Yura! Mila! Back on the ice, let’s go!” Yuri looks away from Mila as he stands and pointedly ignores the looks Viktor and Yuuri are giving him. He has work to do.

“So, Yurio, have you thought about what you want your programs to look like? I have a few ideas of things you might like that are also different from what you did last season, so you should come over for dinner so we can listen to the music and plan out what you want to do!”

“No,” Yuri says simply, and Viktor, who had clearly been expecting an insult, a fight, _some_ sort of response, opens his mouth confusedly and lets his usually perfectly-postured shoulders slump forward.

“What?” he articulately settles upon after a few seconds. “We need to get started on your choreography, Yurio! We normally have something in the works for you by now.”

“No thanks.” He’s quiet for a second, but when he sees that Viktor is going to protest again, he says, “I already have something in mind for my free skate, okay? I want to flesh it out myself first.”

Viktor claps his hands together excitedly. “Yurio! You want to choreograph the whole thing on your own? Magnificent! You should have led with that! Okay, I’ll send you some ideas for the short program tonight, but you have to at least send me the music you’re thinking of using tonight or I’m making you come over for dinner tomorrow so we can plan.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, not even trying to hide it. “Sure,” he says, already walking past Viktor towards the locker room as he does. He doesn’t mention that he’ll probably be over for dinner tomorrow, anyway.

He finds himself nervous to send the track to Viktor.

The song itself isn’t the problem. It’s different enough from what Yuri has performed in years past that he’s sure Viktor will be elated at the opportunity presented to him. The song is perhaps artsier than Yuri’s usual, not aggressively electronic or delicately instrumental or even full-bodied. Rather, it’s raw and exposed, with phrases emphasizing the silence between notes, yet it never feels empty, those simple phrases transforming themselves into something more complex and deliberate as the piece reaches its peak, as if they feel allowed to take up the silence. The end is almost abrupt, each phrase of the song coming together to approach something complete, some satisfying conclusion, but then ends as it is, honest and unashamed of how its different parts never quite reach completion.

The song is perfect.

Yuri is afraid that it’s too much. He’s afraid that he’ll send it to Viktor and Viktor will see everything Yuri hasn’t been able to say in it. He’s afraid to put so much of himself on display only to have it rejected, or, worse yet, for it to become his free skate and force him to expose a part of himself he can’t verbalize.

Before he sends it, Yuri listens one more time. The soft percussive beginning gives him chills, and he closes his eyes into it, letting the art he has in mind sweep him away. The story is over far too quickly.

He wipes his eyes and sends it to Viktor.

Five minutes later, Yuri receives, “Beautiful. Where did you find this?”

Yuri breathes in deep and thinks of his uncomfortable corner in the airport, his whole body too warm with the flush of crying and his shoulders tight from hunching. He remembers the tears dropping onto his phone screen as he stared, afraid to blink and miss an instant of what he saw. He sends the video to Viktor, too.

“I am so proud of you, Yura.”

Yuri is glad no one is there to see him cry.

“Yuuuuuuraaaaa,” Mila calls on a break the next day. Yuri has been running through different elements he wants in his free skate with Viktor, and he’s getting frustrated that his vision may not be feasible. He doesn’t want to do this unless it’s perfect.

“Baba,” Yuri says into his stretch. “What do you want?”

“We should go out tonight!” she says. “We haven’t hung out together since Zhora left!”

Yuri grunts. Georgi had retired from competition over a year ago, but he had stayed around to coach until March, when he announced that he would be moving to France to coach a few promising skaters there. The Russian team had all gone out to celebrate and say goodbye. “That wasn’t that long ago,” Yuri says.

“Yeah, but then you left the country for a while and I was bored here on my own, and now you’re back and I’m still bored, so you have to hang out to make up for it.”

Yuri rises from his stretch and stares at her. “Right. Tomorrow isn’t my rest day, though,” he says, as if that’s ever stopped him before. Mila doesn’t know that, though.

“But it’s an off-ice day for you! You’ll be fine. Come on, we should do _something_ , even if we don’t go out!”

“I’m supposed to have dinner with Viktor and Katsudon tonight.” He’s pulling out the big guns now, and he isn’t even sure if it’s true. They always had dinner together the night before his off-ice days last season, but Yuri hadn’t actually confirmed with Yuuri whether that would continue.

“Ugh, hard pass,” Mila says. “Just come to my place when you’re done, it’s on your way home!”

“Sure,” Yuri says, knowing that even if he does go to dinner at Viktor and Yuuri’s, he most certainly won’t go to Mila’s afterwards. That’s too much socializing in one day.

A whistle sounds from the other side of the rink, Viktor’s latest obnoxious addition in his attempt to co-coach Yuri now that Yuuri is retired, and Yuri prepares to step on the ice. Mila scampers away to the locker room to get ready for her off-ice conditioning. “See you later, Yura!” she calls over her shoulder.

Yeah, definitely not.

Yuri knocks, then unlocks the door cautiously. Viktor and Yuuri had given him a spare key when Yuuri first moved in, but even after years, Yuri was still hesitant to use it. He’d been fortunate enough not to walk in on anything too damning, but he really doesn’t want to push the limit.

“Yurio!” he hears from the kitchen as he greets Makkachin, who barely lifts his head from his spot plopped in the doorway to acknowledge Yuri. Worst guard dog ever.

“Oy,” Yuri greets, going straight for the couch after toeing off his shoes.

“No, come here, there are snacks!” Viktor calls after him. Yuri begrudgingly gets up to go to the kitchen.

 _Snacks_ consists of cheese cubes and one and a half grapes. Clearly Viktor had been cutting up grapes for whatever reason, then eating them before he could set them out. Yuri doesn’t think he’s ever been less impressed with anything in his life, and his face lets Viktor know.

“Hush, we’ve been in Japan for a month, we didn’t have much in the house. Anyway, you invited yourself over! Yuuri was so happy when you asked!”

“I didn’t invite myself over, I made the mistake of asking if he would still make dinner for me on the same days, and now I’m stuck here,” Yuri says, made significantly less sharp when it’s punctuated by popping a cheese cube into his mouth. “Where is Katsu, anyway?”

“Doing laundry,” Yuuri says, emerging from the back room of the apartment. “Vitya, what is the point of getting an apartment with a washer if you never want to use it? Hi, Yuri!”

Viktor drops a kiss to Yuuri’s temple as he walks into the kitchen. Yuri’s inside burns and he looks away. It doesn’t look as gross as usual, and Yuri doesn’t want to think about why it seems so comfortable now.

“Here, Yuri, set the table, dinner will be out in a second.” Yuri does as he’s told only because he knows he gets katsudon out of it.

They mostly talk skating over dinner, Yuuri asking lots of questions about Yuri’s plan for his free skate and why he wants to choreograph it on his own.

“I have a specific story to tell this time,” he says. He doesn’t go into detail of that story. “Besides, I’m letting Viktor do most of my short program, so I think I should get more say for this one. I’ll have at least one decent program that way.”

Viktor chokes on his rice, but he’s laughing, so it’s okay.

“Oh, Yurio,” Viktor says just as they’re finishing. Yuuri stands to clear the table. “I meant to ask, how was Almaty? I haven’t gotten the chance to ask you since we got back!” His eyes are sparkling lightly, clearly remembering the last time Yuri called him while he was there.

“Oh, uh,” Yuri starts, panicking slightly. He tries to think of the type of response he would usually have since he hasn’t told Viktor about anything that happened the day he left, and he really isn’t ready to talk about that yet. “It was okay,” he says, and that’s too generic, it doesn’t sound right. “I miss him,” he says, and _fuck_ , that’s _really_ not right, but it’s not untrue. Yuri texted Otabek when he got to St. Petersburg and eventually liked the photo of Edamame, but otherwise, they haven’t talked since Yuri got back.

Viktor loves it. “Aw, Yura,” he says, putting his cheek in his palm and leaning on the table. “So sweet! Hopefully you’ll have at least one qualifier together this season.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking away from Viktor’s soft happy face and wondering if he actually wants to see Otabek at a qualifier. There are still a few months before the start of the Grand Prix Series, and he doesn’t know if things will be more weird or less by then. He’s saved from wondering and talking to Viktor about it by a knock at the door.

“Mila!” Yuuri says from the entry, and Yuri cranes his neck around to look down the hallway. “Come in! We didn’t know you were coming. Have you eaten?”

“I’m just here to pick up Yura,” Mila says, not moving from the entryway. She doesn’t even remove her shoes. “He promised me we’d hang out after dinner.”

“I did not,” Yuri says as he walks into the small entryway. “Why are you here? I can get to your place on my own if I want to.”

Mila shrugs the shoulder with a large tote bag on it. “I went to the little shop on the corner to grab some things and this is on the way back. I thought it would be nice of me to get you.” She grins at him far too brightly and he bristles under it.

“Do you want to stay for tea at least?” Yuuri asks, ever polite.

Mila shakes her head. “No, thanks, I can just wait for Yura if he’s not done here. I’d hate to steal him from you!”

“It’s fine,” Yuri says, getting more and more irritated as the conversation continues. “Let’s go.” He shoves his feet into his shoes a little too forcefully, then makes for the door. “Bye, Makkachin!” he calls down the hall. Viktor laughs.

“Love you, too, Yurio!” he says, and Yuri slams the door shut.

“Feisty,” Mila says as she catches up to him.

“Fuck off.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” she says, then digs around in her bag. “I bought you something.” She wiggles the bottle in his face, then shoves it back in her bag as he grabs for it. “No drinking until we get to my place!”

“Fine,” he says, when it is very much _not_ fine. He doesn’t want to go to her apartment, but he’ll do it for the vodka.

The walk to Mila’s apartment is only about ten minutes from Viktor and Yuuri’s, and they fall into silence for most of it until Mila ruins it.

“You okay?” she asks casually, not looking at him.

“Wonderful,” he says dryly.

She sighs. “Seriously, Yura. How are you?”

“Irritated,” Yuri snaps out before thinking about it more. “Stressed. Pissed. The usual, you know.” And the emotions are usual, but for different reasons.

“Have you talked to him?” Mila asks, not waiting anymore for Yuri to bring it up.

“No.”

She’s quiet as they reach her apartment, not saying anything until they walk up the steps and she unlocks the door.

“You don’t have to, you know,” she says quietly, “but maybe you should. You know, talk to him. Tell him you’re upset about...whatever happened.”

Yuri scoffs and sits on her couch. “Yeah, right,” he says, “tell him I’m sad about being an asshole who yelled at him, I’m sure that will go over great.”

“You don’t know,” Mila says from behind him. “He might appreciate it.” She’s quiet for a second, but when Yuri doesn’t respond, she dares to ask, “what happened?”

“None of your business,” he says quickly.

“No,” she says cautiously as she cracks open the bottle of vodka, “but I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“Right,” he says, knocking back the vodka she offers him in one gulp. “So you can have more to make fun of me about. Totally.”

“Yura,” she says, coming around to sit next to him on the couch. She puts a hand over his wrist. “When have I ever made fun of you about something that legitimately upset you?”

He considers, then answers, “yesterday, about if Otabek was straight.”

Mila rolls her eyes fondly. “That wasn’t making fun. I asked a legitimate question to see why you were upset. I’m sorry if it came out wrong. I really wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Oh,” Yuri says stupidly. “But why would that upset me?”

She snorts at him. “Oh my god, Yura, I see how you look at him, don’t pretend.”

“Okay, well, he’s not, thanks,” Yuri says, blowing right past that maybe a little too quickly. “Maybe...Maybe I didn’t notice how I looked at him until recently, okay?”

“And he’s not straight, so what’s the problem? Did he turn you down? I’ll fight him for you.”

“If only,” Yuri says, and Mila looks at him funny. Might as well go for it now. “So Beka and I kind of...hooked up. A couple times.”

“Yura!” Mila says, sounding absolutely _ecstatic_. Gross. “And?”

“Except I really like him, okay? And I was scared, because I’ve never slept with someone who I actually really liked, and I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

“Oh, no,” Mila says after a second. “Does he not like you back? I thought for sure—”

“No,” Yuri cuts in, “he definitely does. He, uh...well. It’s just that. He told me he loved me.” Mila goes incredibly still. “And I panicked. And told him I didn’t love him. And left. And now I’m here.”

Mila is silent and still for a few seconds, then Yuri is getting the ever-loving _shit_ smacked out of his arm. “Yuri Plisetsky!” she yells at him, still smacking. “You call that boy _right fucking now_ and explain yourself, you prick!”

“I can’t!” Mila levels him with a glare to rival his own. “It’s, uh, late in Almaty?” he says, not saying _I’m afraid of what happens if he doesn’t answer, and maybe of what happens if he does._

Mila stops smacking him long enough to check the time on her phone, then concedes. Yuri rubs his arm. “Okay,” Mila says, “I’ll give you that. But tomorrow, I am _making_ you call him first thing in the morning. You’re explaining yourself, you piece of shit.”

“Thanks,” Yuri mutters, still rubbing circles on his bicep.

She stares him down for a second, then says, “all right. It’s a plan. For tonight, we’re drinking.”

“I have conditioning in the morning, Baba.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says. “You can spend the night here and I’ll drive you there in the morning. I have some leggings here that will probably fit you that you can use.”

Yuri wants to disagree, but he wants vodka more. “Sure,” he says after a second, “that works.”

They get comfortably drunk and lament about being gay and in love. Yuri can admit that it’s a nice moment.

“Yura!” Mila says the next morning, far too chipper for how much she drank the night before. Yuri shifts himself off the couch and onto the floor and rolls out a crick in his neck. “I’m going to shower. I suggest you make that phone call now if you don’t want me listening in. Leggings are on my bed for you.”

Yuri grunts in affirmation and the bathroom door clicks shut. He wiggles forward for a moment until he realizes how ineffective it is for getting to the bedroom and stands. He sits on Mila’s neatly-made bed next to the leggings and digs out his phone.

“You’re an idiot,” he tells himself, then hits the call button before he can chicken out.

The line rings. And rings. It rings some more. Yuri stares at the pattern on the leggings in front of him. They’re black with hardly-visible flowers outlined in silver. Pretty, but obviously not his.

He’s caught up thinking of the leggings when the line finally connects. “Yura?” It sounds strained.

“Oh,” he says, “hi.” Silence. “Are you at practice?”

“Just left yoga,” Otabek says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says, a little hurt. “I can’t just want to call you?”

“Yeah, but I thought...You just don’t call in the mornings,” Otabek finishes weakly.

“Well, here I am.” Lame. “I, uh, saw the picture of Edamame.”

“I know,” Otabek says. “Simaa has her now. I can send you pictures if you want.”

“That would be nice.” More silence. It’s awkward.

“Well, I’ve got to—”

“Beka, I wanted to say,” Yuri cuts off. “I, uh, wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Otabek is quiet for a second, then says, “it’s okay, Yura. I understand.”

“It’s really not, I’m sorry, I never got the chance to say—”

“Yura,” Otabek says, and Yuri shuts up. He loves the way Otabek says his name even when he’s upset. It warms his chest. “It’s okay. I pushed too far, I get that. I’m sorry. You’re my best friend. I don’t want anything to change between us, okay?”

_Oh._

“Yura?”

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah, I’d like that too.”

“Good.” Otabek’s voice sounds a bit lighter on the line. “I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Okay. Have a nice practice.”

“You too.” The line goes dead.

Yuri fucked up.

He’s still crying when Mila comes into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have three or four more chapters planned, depending on how much I decide to shove into each chapter.
> 
> If you're able, I suggest looking up lyrics to the songs I'm using as titles! They may provide insight to what's happening next!
> 
> I'm kind of embarrassed about the song I chose for Yuri's free skate, but let me know if you want to know what it is!
> 
> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks make me so happy and make it easier to keep writing. Thank you so much for every single one I've received. I love you all.


	9. Miss You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK HAPPY YOI ANNIVERSARY
> 
> Warnings for drinking, mention of vomit
> 
> Sorry for talking so much in these notes. This is SO LATE but I CAN EXPLAIN. I moved very far, and I have the worst job. Like, you don't understand how terrible this place is. I'm working 50+ hours a week at this hellhole. If you message me for details, I will gladly provide them, but I don't really feel like describing all the BS here.
> 
> For those of you who have read a lot of stuff in the otayuri fandom/any of my other stuff, be on the lookout for a tiny, mean easter egg.
> 
> [Miss You](https://open.spotify.com/track/3zxrecYFao03IrrcyFiaMU?si=YJ9GlWRvQFqVE8yEMaR2QQ) by Louis Tomlinson

Yuri’s plans for the Friday before his rest day are no different from his plans for every other day over the past week.

He flops onto his bed. He tries not to scream into his pillow. He tries not to cry.

He fails.

He wallows.

The worst part of the past week is that everyone has been so _nice_ to him, so forgiving of his dumbassery. It would be so much easier to pretend that nothing has changed with Otabek if every other part of his life stayed the same, but apparently things aren’t allowed to be that easy.

Instead, Mila has been buying him lunch and showing him every cat picture she can get her hands on. She buys Potya new toys—little catnip-filled plush foods—and makes Yuri send his grandfather a video of her playing with them. She takes him to a cat cafe and gets him a “catppurrccino” that is _definitely_ not allowed on his meal plan.

Viktor has been the ever-attentive coach, none of the flimsy bullshit that he pulls just to piss Yuri off. He claims it’s because Yakov is letting him take a bigger role since Viktor will be Yuri’s only coach when Yakov retires at the end of the season, but Yuri sees through it. Viktor phrases every note as a challenge to Yuri instead of his usual vague praises, and he pushes Yuri to complete and memorize the choreography for his free skate within a week of approving his music. He’s supportive, yet never to be mistaken for compassionate while on the ice, and Yuri almost appreciates Viktor’s tough love getting him through tough times.

That is, until Yuri has to deal with him off ice.

The first day had been terrible. Yuri had found himself at Viktor and Yuuri’s apartment as soon as he was done with his required conditioning for the day, squishing his face into Makkachin’s fur and pretending that nothing was wrong even as he tried not to cry.

“He wants to be just friends,” Yuri had said around a hiccup. It was that or let it out in a wail, and as appropriate as that would have been for how he felt, he wasn’t sure if he deserved to be that level of upset about the situation, given that he’s the one who messed up.

When Yuri had looked up, Viktor was building a pillow fort around him with a terrifying determination. “I’ll kill him for you,” he said, looking Yuri straight in the eye as he fluffed up another pillow. Viktor’s gaze was dead and cold, steel pointed into Yuri’s eyes and thousands of kilometers past.

Yuri had been genuinely terrified. “Well, uh, actually…”

After Yuri finished telling the whole story, Viktor had wrapped him up in a blanket cocoon and let him cry until his whole body ached. The sympathy only made him feel worse, so Yuri had cried until he was too dehydrated to cry anymore.

And he’s done basically the same thing in his own room every night since.

Yuri pushes himself at practice every day until he can barely walk home, hoping to tire himself out enough to sleep, but each day he rises achy and dehydrated from not falling asleep until well into the early hours of the morning. He doesn’t sob himself to sleep, but silently cries as he stares at the ceiling or his window. It’s not like he plans to cry, or even to think about the problems that are making him cry, but his body betrays him when he lies down at night. Tears roll down his face and gather in the hollows of his clavicles as he forces himself to breathe evenly and count his breaths down, trying to clear his mind. It doesn’t work, and he wakes feeling hungover yet worse, but exhaustion lends itself beautifully towards his natural resting angry face, so he takes advantage of that in his refusal to show any sign of upset during the day.

In fact, he barely shows any sign of himself at all.

He hasn’t gone to Viktor and Yuuri’s since that first night, since he can see the change in Viktor’s face the moment he takes his skates off and doesn’t want to be swaddled up as he cries again. It was too warm the first time.

He doesn’t talk to Mila unless he’s complaining as she drags him out to lunch, and he heads back to the rink or the studio or the gym as soon as he can get away from her because it’s harder to avoid questions when there isn’t food in front of him to occupy his mouth.

He barely even posts on Instagram, sharing only one video in the past week that he’d gotten of Potya honest-to-god chasing her tail. He had giggled through his tears and posted the video to cheer himself up.

(Otabek still hasn’t liked it, but that’s okay, he’s not on Instagram that much and that’s not why Yuri posted it, anyway.)

Yuri has gone out of his way to isolate himself this week, hoping to get all his feelings out before Viktor starts him on the choreography for his short program, and he’s perfectly content to see that plan through the weekend. He’s giving himself two more days of wallowing in his bullshit before he gets over himself. That’s plenty of time for him to get his life together.

At the foot of his bed, Yuri’s phone buzzes aggressively with an incoming call. Yuri starts but otherwise ignores it, burying his face deeper into his pillow. He’d only cried a little bit this time, which he’s taking as a good sign, but he’s still not ready to extricate himself just yet. The buzzing stops, then comes again, shorter this time to indicate a message. He sighs and rotates slightly so that he’s not breathing directly into the pillow, but not enough to reach his phone. He stares at Potya where she’s grooming intensely about a meter from him, admiring the way her ears pop back up after she brushes over them with her paws, until the phone buzzes again. He groans as he twists around to answer it.

“We’re going out,” Mila says as soon as Yuri grunts out an acknowledgement. “You have an hour to get yourself pretty before I get you for dinner, then we’re getting drinks.”

“No,” Yuri almost-whines. “I don’t want to. I don’t feel well.”

“Don’t care,” Mila says. “We’re getting you out of the house. Fifty-nine minutes, princess.” She hangs up before Yuri gets the chance to protest.

“What the fuck,” Yuri mutters as he sends her a message. He is not in the fucking mood.

 **Yuri:** i really don’t feel well

 **Baba:** tough. drink some water. eat a banana. If you aren’t downstairs in 57 minutes i’m breaking in

Yuri glares at his phone for another minute, then plugs it in to charge. He goes to shower.

“You better be dressed, Plisetsky!” Yuri hears shortly after the sound of his front door crashing open.

“I’m finishing my hair, Jesus,” he says, pulling the end of his hair into a tie as he walks out of the bathroom. He had opted for a lazy sort of effort, pulling his hair up into a high ponytail then twisting it into a single braid that brushes the base of his neck when he walks. “How the fuck did you get in?”

“Stole your spare key from Viktor,” Mila says, then plows past Yuri’s glare to continue, “hurry up, let’s go. Wait, actually.” She gives him a once-over. “Change your shoes, put on the heeled boots. You know better than this, Yura, come on.”

“Fuck you, I don’t even wanna do this,” Yuri says, but he goes to change his shoes anyway. He knows the cut of his pants demands heels, but he didn’t give half a shit when he was getting dressed, and he’s not trying to walk around St. Petersburg in heels. Mila telling him to change gives him all the excuse he needs to make her pay for cabs all night, hopefully straight back to his apartment when she realizes how much she’ll have to spend on his refusal to walk.

“Better. Let’s go.”

Yuri lets himself be dragged out of the apartment, his heels clunking damply after Mila’s.

The restaurant was uneventful. The first bar had been pretty typical, while the second was pretty unmemorable. The cab ride between the two had been unremarkable. In fact, the whole night was turning out to be unremarkable.

Until Mila had brought them to this place.

Yuri had been unsure when they first walked in, but one drink in and he’s comfortable. The place is too small for how full it is, yet it doesn’t feel oppressive now that he’s actually part of the crowd. Bartenders wander around the floor selling house drinks for cheap, and there’s a little section in the back with small tables and board games where Yuri secretly really wants to play dominoes, but the set is missing a few pieces and there aren’t any tables that people aren’t dancing on or sprawled across, anyway.

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that this is the type of place you go to?” he says to Mila as they settle at the bar with their drinks. The place sells mixed drinks in cute little buckets with different decorations for what liquor is in the drink, and for some reason looking around the bar to see what everyone is drinking entertains him.

“I don’t hear you complaining,” she says as she takes a delicate but sizeable sip of some godforsaken green concoction she ordered. “Here, you see that little counter over there? You can order food there, take this and get me something, I’m starving.”

“We just ate a couple of hours ago, you pig,” Yuri says as he reaches for her card.

“If you shut up you can buy yourself something, too,” she says.

Yuri doesn’t want anything, but he shuts up anyway because he can’t think of anything snappy enough. He glares to make it known that he isn’t taking her offer.

The tiny counter that separates the bar from the game room has a single waiter staffing it but half a dozen people leaning against it. Behind the waiter is a brightly-lit hallway presumably leading to a kitchen, but Yuri can’t see far enough back to be sure. Yuri doesn’t see a menu anywhere.

“I’ll take two of whatever the spiciest thing you have is,” Yuri says, not bothering to ask about other options.

As the waiter takes the card to the back, one of the bartenders who’s been circling around the place slides into the waiter’s spot. “Hundred rubles for a shot?” he offers, lifting a plastic container of pale liquid into Yuri’s line of sight.

“Sure,” Yuri says with a shrug, reaching for his back pocket and, “oh.” His wallet is in Mila’s bag because these pants don’t _have_ pockets. “I don’t have cash,” he says dumbly to the bartender.

The bartender pours a shot and hands it over anyway. “This one’s on me,” he says, somehow winking _cutely_. It’s the first time a stranger has winked at him without it feeling overly sexual or creepy. The bartender’s hair flops over his eyes as he grins, and Yuri can’t help but smile brightly back.

The waiter returns from the back and hands Yuri the card and a buzzer. “Food will be out in a bit,” he says as the bartender slips away.

Yuri nods and turns to leave, making sure to grab his free shot before he goes. He downs it on his way back to Mila, dropping the empty container onto a table stacked with empty glasses and plates as he walks back. The drink is sweet and a little too coconutty for Yuri’s liking, but he won’t complain about a free drink.

“Here,” Yuri says as he reaches Mila and holds out the card. “The food will be out soon.”

“What did you get?” She takes the buzzer from Yuri’s hand, too, and places it very precisely in front of her, as if the waiter won’t give her her plate unless the buzzer in her immediate space. Yuri roll his eyes at her, and she bats her eyelashes at him as she sips at the last of her bucket of alcohol.

“You’ll find out when you get it, won’t you?” he says as if he has any idea what he actually got. Oh well.

Mila looks like she’s about to bitch Yuri out—though how she has the right he doesn’t know, considering she was too lazy to order her own food—but one of the bartenders slips into the conversation out of nowhere. “You want another one of these, hon?” she asks Mila, gesturing at the empty drink container.

“Please,” Mila says emphatically with a sparkling smile as she pushes the bucket towards the bartender.

“Back in a second,” the bartender says at the same time that Yuri says, “yet _I’m_ the alcoholic,” under his breath.

“What was that?” Mila asks to Yuri as the bartender leaves, all of her sparkle gone.

“Nothing,” he says, taking a pointed sip of his still-mostly-full drink.

“Don’t shit talk, Yura. You aren’t as slick as you think you are.”

“Eat my whole--”

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Yuri hears from behind him, and then the bartender who gave him a shot at the food counter is reaching around him to place their food in front of Yuri.

“Thank you!” Mila absolutely bubbles at him while Yuri is left with an open mouth and an insult ready to roll off his tongue.

“Enjoy,” the bartender says, still looking directly at Yuri.

Yuri closes his mouth into a smirk. “Thanks,” he says and flicks his gaze up and down the bartender, who raises his eyebrows up briefly and returns a satisfied grin before he leaves.

“Yura,” Mila says as soon as the bartender moves away. Yuri is still looking after him. “ _Yura_ ,” she says again.

He turns to look at her. “Hm?”

“Yura.”

“Baba. What.”

“You can’t be flirting with every dark-haired guy with an undercut!”

It feels like a slap to the face, but Yuri won’t show her that. He glares instead. “Who said I was flirting?”

“Yura. Literally everything about that whole interaction, that’s who.”

“And so what if it was?” Mila’s the one taking him out after a not-quite breakup. If she didn’t expect some rebounding, that’s her fault.

“Again: stop with the dark-haired undercuts. It’s not a good idea.”

Yuri glares harder at her, but unfortunately she’s immune. “Why the fuck not?”

“Well, for starters, JJ has an undercut.”

The glare weakens as Yuri chokes on his drink.

“ _And_ ,” she continues, clearly entertained at her disgusting statement, “if you get someone who looks different, you’re less likely to say the wrong name in bed.”

This time Yuri shoves at her as Mila’s next bucket of alcohol comes out. “You’re disgusting, Baba.”

“It’s better than having the most obvious type ever. You might as well walk around with a sign that says it.”

“Fuck off, he gave me a free drink, that’s all.”

“Ooh,” Mila says, her body language shifting from goading to flirtatious in a syllable. “Why didn’t you open with that?”

“Shut the fuck up and eat your shashlik,” Yuri says.

Several visits from the cute-but-not-because-he-has-an-undercut bartender later, Yuri is sprawled across a table in the gameroom, nearly crying over missing pieces.

“Mila. Mila! We can’t play without the double-six! I don’t want to play fives! I need the double-six!”

“Yurochka,” Mila says, and her face appears over Yuri’s but upside-down, “I love you, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dominoes!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she says, and suddenly her hand is under his neck and sitting him upright. She disappears from his line of sight as he sits up. “Dominoes. I promise we can play dominoes at your house later.”

“I don’t have dominoes at my house,” Yuri says. He looks around the room, pouting at the wood paneling. Where has he played dominoes?

“I’ll buy you some, okay?” We’ll play dominoes soon. But we should go, okay? The bar is closing soon, the music has stopped.”

“But I didn’t get to play dominoes,” Yuri says, and he suddenly remembers and wants to be a kid again, sitting at his grandfather’s kitchen table, learning to count up the pips to see how many points he gets. He lies back down on the table and tries to stare at a spot on the ceiling that keeps moving around.

“All right, darling, up we go,” he hears, and then different hands are at his shoulders, pulling him upright and to his feet. “I have a full set of dominoes at home that I promise to bring if you promise to come back,” the cute-but-not-Otabek bartender says.

“Yes,” Yuri says enthusiastically once he’s steadied himself out. The bartender stopped pushing his hair out of his face at some point during the night, and Yuri finds himself smiling at the slightly-disheveled look. “Promise. For you.” One hand is still on Yuri’s shoulder, and Yuri burns with the warmth of it.

“All right, here we go,” Mila says, and wraps one arm around Yuri’s waist. “Let’s head out.” She smiles sweetly at the bartender. “Thank you,” she says politely, clearly trying to end the conversation.

The bartender’s hand falls from Yuri’s shoulder as Yuri moves with her for a moment, until, “wait! We didn’t get a picture!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Yura. You’re pretty drunk.”

“So?”

“You may not want to put this one on Instagram, sweetheart.”

“Oh. Just for us, then?”

Mila shifts and smiles at him a little. Yuri doesn’t understand it. “Okay,” she agrees softly. “For us.”

“Sweet!” He gestures wildly to the bartender, just a few steps away from them where he’s cleaning up the table Yuri was just sprawled across. “Hey! Can you take a picture of us?”

“Sure,” he says, and puts his dish rag down. He holds out his hand for Yuri’s phone, then repositions them into better lighting. “I took a couple,” he says when he’s done, handing back the phone for Yuri to scroll through.

“Thanks!” Yuri says, then feels Mila tug at his waist to keep moving. “Do you want to get one together?” he suddenly asks, not sure where that desire came from.

The bartender blinks at Yuri, clearly caught off-guard, then smiles affectionately. “I’d like that,” he says, and Yuri hears Mila sigh next to him.

“C’mere,” Yuri says as he pulls up Snapchat, scrolling to find his favorite floaty-heart filter. The bartender presses in next to him, and Yuri presses the capture button.

At that exact moment, the bartender presses a quick kiss to Yuri’s cheek.

“Save that and send it to me?” he asks to Yuri’s dumbfounded expression.

“Yeah,” Yuri says, pressing the save button and handing his phone to the bartender to put his number in. “I’ll send it to you,” he says as he gets his phone back, the contacts screen still up. “I’ll text you later, Aleksei.”

“I look forward to it,” Aleksei says, then turns back to the table.

“Let’s _go_ ,” Mila says, wrapping herself back around Yuri’s waist and tugging hard enough that Yuri gets the hint.

They get outside without incident, but when Mila props them against a ledge, Yuri notices the world is spinning more than normal. “Mila,” he says as she leans forward to hail a cab. “Mila, I still don’t feel well.”

“I’ll get you home soon, Yura,” she says, looking at her phone. “I’m calling a cab now.”

“Mm,” Yuri says, and makes himself focus enough to look at his phone. He opens Snapchat again, where his picture with Aleksei still waits to be sent. He flips through filters to find the cute location filter for the bar, then moves to the contacts page to send it.

“Cab’s on the way,” Mila says as Yuri stares at the contacts page. She leans next to him, and he props his head on her shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says, and chooses to send the snap to both Mila and Otabek. He had meant for it to go only to Mila, but he hasn’t reached out to Otabek in a while and he misses him, he realizes. He misses the familiarity of opening up Snapchat or Twitter specifically to share something with Otabek, and he falls into that now, if only for the routine of it when so much else around him is different.

“How are you doing?” Mila asks him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and squeezing.

“Sleepy,” Yuri says, then watches as the little red arrow next to Otabek’s name turns white. He glances at the time. It’s nearly five in the morning in Almaty.

The arrow stays white as Yuri’s phone screen dims and locks. He turns towards the bushes. He vomits.

“Yura!” Mila begins rubbing gently at his back. He can hear her talking on the phone slightly panickedly as he presses his face against the cool stone.

He stays that way for who knows how long before a familiar car pulls up in front of them. Mila helps him get in the back seat, and suddenly he’s wrapped up in a sweater and being handed a bottle of water.

“Drink this,” Mila says.

“I can’t when we’re going so fast,” Yuri says.

“We’re still parked, Yurochka,” Viktor says from the driver’s seat.

Oh.

Mila helps him take a few small sips of water, then Viktor announces that he’s going to start driving. Yuri’s head droops onto Mila’s shoulder until she adjusts him so his head is in her lap.

“Baba?” he says quietly. He isn’t actually sure he’s said it and is about to try again when she responds.

“Yes?”

“I love Beka. Like. A lot.”

She snorts, and Yuri wants to smack her, but it’s also kind of cute. He’s happy that she’s happy. “Yurochka, honey, I could have told you that years ago.”

“No?” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. But no, that’s not right. He’d only realized it for sure tonight, when he realized that he’s upset because Otabek is making just as little effort to be in his life as he is in Otabek’s. That can’t be right.

“Sweetheart, when he told you he couldn’t make it to Piter for your 16th birthday, you cried until you realized you could use the leftovers of your winnings from Euros to go to Almaty, then abandoned literally every person here to go to a foreign country for one guy.” 

Viktor laughs from the front seat. “Sounds familiar.”

“Oh. I. Oh.”

“It’s okay, Yura. You’ll work it out.”

“Hn.” He buries himself into Mila’s lap and focuses on breathing.

“You’re alive!” Viktor says the next morning when Yuri shuffles from the couch to the kitchen for water.

“Shut up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Viktor laughs. “Let me know when you can say more than that and we’ll work on the choreography for your short program. Oh, and Mila made it home safely this morning. She already texted me.”

Yuri nods.

He’s halfway back to the couch when he turns around to face Viktor. He clears his throat. “Thanks,” he says, then quickly turns back to the couch, prepared to bury himself in blankets to block out the light.

“Anything you need, Yurochka.”

At least Viktor can’t see his smile from under the blankets.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Mila tipped the bartender for putting up with Yuri, and yes, she did call a cab, then realize that Yuri might throw up in a cab and call Viktor instead lol. I like to imagine that Viktor shows up in a fuzzy pink bathrobe and slippers.
> 
> The bar and Yuri's experience with the bartender are based on my actual life, except I didn't lie across a table like an asshole and cry about dominoes (though I was upset that they didn't have a full set).
> 
> I'm not going to lie, it's probably going to be another few weeks before an update is available. If anyone is up for the challenge of being my beta to make sure that I get things out more regularly, let me know! The first half of this chapter is more edited than the second because of how nuts my life is, so maybe a beta could help me out with that, too.
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE WITH ME. A few more chapters of this and then it's done! (But maybe I'll write a separate part with the sex scene from a few chapters ago that I skipped...? Let me know if you want that!)


	10. Audacity of Huge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for talking so much in these notes
> 
> Okay, I am _deeply_ sorry for the long delay. The job I was working was absolutely horrifying. Like, you cannot suspend your disbelief at some of the stuff I would tell y'all about it. So I finally quit and got a better job _right_ before the world descended further into chaos. I'm doing great over here.
> 
> Because this took so long, it is also very unedited, and perhaps makes no sense. There is a lot of dialogue. I apologize, and I hope the length of the chapter makes up for it.
> 
> Warning for some minor talk of diets/food.
> 
> ["Audacity of Huge" by Simian Mobile Disco](https://open.spotify.com/track/7A4hUAE33LMKn7r8Lsuyeg?si=qrFi0afpSe6q4FJaekR0UQ)

“Yurio, if you don’t get your shit together and land this jump, I’m cutting quads from your whole short program.”

“Fuck off, dickhead, I’ll get there eventually.”

“Yeah, by next season, maybe. Clean up the rest of your program and then we’ll get back to it, I don’t have time for this.”

Yuri skids to a stop on the ice, trying to hide how heavy his breathing actually is. “I’m sorry, _you_ try making history by completing a physics-defying jump, then tell me how easy it is to focus on other things.”

Viktor runs his hand through his hair for about the millionth time that morning, as if his hair wasn’t already thin enough. “You don’t get to lecture me on how difficult it is to make history, Yurio, especially when I actually managed to do it without absolutely destroying my body. Your entire hip is one giant bruise and I’m surprised you don’t have a concussion by now, yet your free program still isn’t clean, so either do this right or don’t do it at all.”

He has a point, but Yuri’s never going to just _say_ that. He skates away, not quite towards the center of the ice, and relaxes his posture before accelerating into a jump. He does so perfectly, landing a clean quad flip with no issue, then turns back to Viktor.

“You know that doesn’t impress me,” Viktor says. “Now quit wasting your energy being petty. I want to see your whole program from the top. For every imperfection, that’s one day of no quads. Go.”

“Fuck off, you’re a shitty fucking coach,” Yuri says, but he does as he’s told anyway.

Yuri had talked to Viktor about the jump not long after sharing his music with him.

“I don’t know if we can do it by your first qualifier, but we’ll get there,” Viktor had said, surprising the shit out of Yuri. He’d prepared material for when Viktor told him he was too full of himself and had unrealistic expectations, but found himself with nowhere to use it.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Yakov had said, which was much more in line with Yuri’s expectations. But if the combined force of Viktor and Yuri over the years hadn’t killed him yet, well. Yuri didn’t see Yakov stopping him.

They had talked _feasibility_ and _compromise_ and all sorts of other shit that Yuri didn’t want to hear, but eventually worked it out so Yuri could focus his energy on the jump.

“I don’t want to reuse an old step sequence, that’s stupid and predictable,” Yuri had protested towards the end of their first day of planning.

“Other skaters do it far more often than you, you’ll be fine,” Viktor had said while still sketching out plans for the rest of the elements Yuri wanted to incorporate. Yuri could admit, his original choreography had been lofty by even his own expectations, but at least Viktor was trying to spread it out instead of whittle it down.

“When my score suffers because you thought I could recycle a four year old step sequence, I’m hiring a new coach.”

“When I make you skate a four year old program because you didn’t let me work, remember this moment,” Viktor says, looking at Yuri with a false smile and lightless eyes. “No one is going to care about one of your step sequences if you land your axel, but that’s on you, so shut up and go do something productive.”

Yuri had stormed away and onto the ice to begin practicing nothing but that jump for the next two hours.

He’s got four days without quads, but he’s sure Viktor will either forget or get bored after two.

“There were far more things wrong with it than that, but if you ever want to do a quad again, I’ll just go by what would have been a deduction.”

“You’re the literal worst pile of shit ever to take human form and you’re fired,” Yuri says before he skates off to center ice to perform a whole runthrough again, preferably without touching down on a triple axel this time.

“You don’t get to make that call,” Yakov calls from the other side of the rink. Yuri swears he’s never seen him look even vaguely as entertained.

It goes on like this for a while.

Viktor really does choreograph an entire short program with no quads, and to music Yuri hates.

“How do you expect me to do well if you’ve given me a technically basic program that I can’t even get into because the music sucks? You really don’t want me to break any more of your records, do you?”

Yuri appreciates that Viktor has him do V-ups for being rude instead of going easy on him.

“How is this even going to help me?” Yuri says during the twentieth V-up. He would yell, but he’s not sure he could balance and maintain his position that way, and if he messes up, he has to start over. “You’ve really got no future in this coaching thing, you’re just a sadist.”

“One more word of complaint and you’re on weights,” Viktor says cheerily. “It’s not my fault you can’t make the podium without quads. Now start over, your heel touched the ground.”

Yuri isn’t sure one jump is worth all this.

One day, when Yuuri comes to visit the rink and Mila isn’t there to keep Yuri from lashing out and Otabek still hasn’t reached out first and Yuri is just so fucking _tired_ of his own shit, he finally does it.

“Holy shit, Yuri!” he hears from Yuuri, probably more because Yuri didn’t know what to do with his momentum upon landing and ends up carried directly into the boards, not because he just landed a quadruple _fucking_ axel.

Yuri pushes himself off the boards, a little winded and disoriented, then jumps a little. “Fuck yeah!” he yells, then skates closer to where Yuuri is. “Did you see that? Did you just swear? Fuck yeah!”

Yuuri laughs lightly with him, sounding relieved and exhilarated, which is ridiculous because he’s just _standing there_ and not skating. “I was worried that you were hurt, but I guess not. That was incredible, Yuri! Congratulations!”

“Calm down, you currently have a _maybe_ one percent success rate of landing it in practice, if that,” Viktor says, but Yuri can tell he’s secretly proud. “Quick break, then try it again.”

Yuri turns to Viktor, ready to tell him to fuck off for perhaps the thousandth time that week, before catching Yuuri’s eye again. He wears a face of challenge, his mouth twisted in frustrated understanding and one eyebrow slightly raised. It’s a message in two parts: _yeah, I remember how that used to get to me_ and _are you really going to let him tell you what to do?_ Yuri smirks at him, then sends a small smile and a nod to Viktor, before skating off in long, lazy loops and shaking out his arms.

The second it’s been long enough for Viktor to think he’s actually cooling down, he does it again.

This time, he knows better what to expect, and he manages to twist his momentum into an euler then a shitty single Salchow before sliding to a stop. It wasn’t the cleanest sequence of jumps, but he’ll get there.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” he hears Yakov call from the corner of the rink where he’s just emerged from his office, “we are all very impressed, but take a break now before you hurt yourself.”

Yuri actually does as he’s told, because he has never once heard Yakov call anything impressive, and if doesn’t immediately call Mila to rub it in, he’s going to explode.

He freezes at the thought for a second, still bent to put on his skate guards. Had this happened a few months ago, his first thought would have been to call Otabek, maybe send him a video of the jump if he had gotten one. Now his instinct is to call Mila, his own rinkmate, who only wasn’t there to see it in person because she happened to have this day off scheduled for months. Without even realizing it, Yuri has let his world become so small.

Otabek hasn’t reached out first since Yuri came back from Almaty, and every message Yuri has sent in the past week has gone unanswered. Most of them haven’t even been opened. Not that Yuri’s checking.

“Thanks,” he says when Yuuri hands him his water bottle as he rights himself. He lifts one leg to lie across the boards as he drinks.

“That was really incredible, Yuri,” Yuuri says from next to him. “Can’t wait to see it in competition.”

“It’s not good enough yet,” Yuri says, high from the success long gone. It really isn’t, he realizes, and he doesn’t have time to waste calling Mila to show off. He has programs to clean.

“Hm,” he hears from Yuuri next to him before he turns back to Viktor.

Yakov and Viktor let him go an hour early with strict instructions to take it easy for the rest of the evening.

“The ice will still be here in the morning, Yuri,” Viktor had said, one hand on Yuri’s shoulder. Yuri barely has to look up to meet his eye anymore. “Don’t overdo it before you get to show it off.”

Yuri had just shrugged him off and headed home. It wasn’t his business if Yuri wanted to stay on the ice for lack of anything better to do.

Potya is clearly confused to see Yuri back so early, but she just stretches into a yawn then curls up on his lap as he sits on his bed and pulls out his phone. He does his best to lie back without displacing her as he calls Mila.

“Guess what,” he says to her small _hello?_ , not bothering with a polite greeting.

“Um, what?” She sounds uncertain, like she doesn’t know if this is a good _what_ or a bad one.

“I landed the axel!”

She shrieks in delight. “Yura! Oh my god, congrats! Do you have a video? I want to see!”

“No video yet, but hopefully you’ll get to see it if I land it again tomorrow.”

“God, Yura, this is so awesome! I can’t believe I missed it!”

“Land some quads to make it up to me.”

Mila snorts. “Yet I don’t see you offering to help me. Hey, listen, I have to go, but we definitely need to celebrate, okay? Takeout and movies tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, sure,” Yuri says, deflating a little because, if Mila can’t talk, now he has so much extra time in his night to fill. “Talk tomorrow?”

“Talk tomorrow. Congrats again!” She hangs up before Yuri can say thank you.

Yuri sits up again, shifting Potya off his lap as he stands. He fiddles with his phone to choose music to play as he prepares dinner, and he makes a decision as he reaches the kitchen.

 **Yuri:** hey, it’s been a while, talk soon?

He sets his phone aside, letting the music fill in the empty corners of his small kitchen as he pulls things out of the refrigerator and cabinets, trying to see what he can make. The harsh buzz of his phone on the countertop pulls him out of his mental catalogue of recipes, and he twists to check it.

 **Beka:** Please. I can’t tonight and I have a gig tomorrow night, but will you have time Saturday?

Yuri’s chest tightens. He should be excited to have even gotten a response from Otabek, but he’s not used to being pencilled into Otabek’s schedule.

 **Yuri:** Yeah, sure, I can make that work

Yuri continues making dinner and tries to ignore the growing weight in his stomach when his phone doesn’t buzz again.

“Okay, so what do you want to order?” Mila says as soon as Yuri walks out of the locker room. She’d waited for him even though she was done a few hours earlier.

“I dunno, what do you feel like?” Practice was rough, and Yuri hadn’t landed the axel even once that day. He’s more sore and cranky than hungry.

“No, Yura, this is for you! We can’t celebrate you with food that I want!”

“I’m not picky, just choose somewhere and I’ll find something,” Yuri says as he scrolls through missed messages on his phone. Serik sent him about a dozen different iterations of the same meme, and Yuri reads through all of them now, lips quirking up as they become increasingly more absurd.

“Yura. You are literally the pickiest person I have ever met.” Yuri glares at her. She rolls her eyes but concedes, “you know, I could go for Italian.”

“Of course you could,” Yuri mutters. “No way. Too many carbs too late in the day.”

Mila sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re no fun. What about that little kebab place by your apartment? The one with the grilled chicken kebabs.”

“Yeah, sure.” His phone vibrates in his hand, and he looks down expecting another message from Serik.

 **Aleksei:** Hey! Suddenly got tonight off work, do you want to go out? Play dominoes, maybe?

Yuri blinks but doesn’t respond. They’d exchanged a few messages since the night they’d met, but that’s it.

“So kebabs for sure? What movie did you wanna watch?” Mila asks as they get into her car.

“That’s fine, yeah.” He looks at the unanswered message on his phone again. “We can just see if there’s anything on my to-watch list that looks any good, if you want. I don’t have anything in mind.”

Mila hums in agreement, and they settle into a wordless calm, listening to the soft music coming from the radio. Yuri scrolls through his phone, looking for an appropriate meme to send to Serik, then thumbing back to the message from Aleksei.

 **Yuri:** sorry, I have plans with a friend tonight. tomorrow, maybe?

His phone doesn’t buzz again until they’re back in his apartment, squabbling over how to split the carrot cake Mila purchased on impulse that they really don’t need.

“If you cut it across, so help me god, Mila Babicheva, I will kill you in this apartme—Mila!” He lunges at her as she cuts off a tiny triangle of cake for him.

“You said we shouldn’t get it! You should have less if you didn’t want it!” She twists away smoothly, cackling at him as he chases her. “If I drop it then you don’t get any at all!”

Yuri freezes then drops to the floor, grabbing his phone from where he dropped it. He sees Mila flop against the couch next to him as he looks at his notifications, a Snapchat from Otabek glaring from where he expected a message from Aleksei. He opens it hesitantly as Mila places his triangle of cake in front of him, taking in what details he can in the dark scene. It’s of the DJ booth of whatever club he’s in, the crowd in the background lit up in garish oranges and greens from strobe lights. There’s no caption.

He considers a moment if he should respond, and hasn’t made a decision yet before he’s taking a picture of Mila, mouth full of cake and enraptured by the movie. He sends it quickly before his brain can catch up to his hands, then turns to his cake in front of him.

“Could you be more of an ass?” he says as he brings the single bite of cake Mila has left for him to his mouth.

“You can have the rest of mine,” she says as she slides her plate over. “I don’t like the frosting anyway.”

“I don’t want your leftovers, you selfish hag,” he says. She inches the plate closer to him.

His phone buzzes twice, and he scrambles to grab it, not daring to hope.

He checks the snap from Otabek first. It’s another picture of the booth, but with a caption this time. “Tell her hello from me, got to go, I’m up,” it reads, more than Otabek has offered him in weeks. Yuri swipes to his other notification.

 **Aleksei:** I work tomorrow night, but we can get lunch tomorrow?

“Beka says hey,” Yuri says as he types a response to Aleksei, and good, his voice doesn’t waver at all when he says it.

“Oh?” Yuri ignores Mila’s pointed look. “And how’s that going?”

“It’s not,” Yuri snaps out, then says, a little softer, “we haven’t talked much lately.”

Mila puts her hand over his wrist. “Yura—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” he says. “I don’t want your sympathy. And besides, I’m getting lunch with that bartender tomorrow anyway.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? And when were you going to tell me this?”

“Was I supposed to?” Without changing, her expression somehow becomes more probing. “Once I know for sure where we’re going,” he says in concession. “You have to be able to avenge the death of a Russian legend if he kills me.”

Her eyes go round and sweet. “Why would I avenge Vitya’s death?”

“Fuck off!”

Lunch the next day is a whole ordeal. Yuri has to take the metro to the place they’d decided on, and there are only about two things he can eat there. He’d woken up late, so he’ll have to go for his run later, and he’s not looking forward to running when it’s hotter. By the time he gets to the cafe, he’s starting think he should have just stayed home.

“Yuri,” he hears as he enters the cafe, and a hand lands gently on his back. He tenses just slightly, then relaxes as he recognizes Aleksei’s voice. “You look so nice! You didn’t have to dress up for me.”

“I promise you I didn’t,” Yuri says.

Aleksei just laughs, which is not the response he was expecting. “Come on, let’s order. I don’t want to keep you all day. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

Yuri doesn’t know what to make of that, so he just lets himself be guided to the counter.

“Tell me about yourself,” Aleksei says once they’re seated and his hands are to himself.

It’s always nice to talk to someone who doesn’t already know everything about him. “I’m from Moscow, but I live in Saint Petersburg most of the year. I’m an athlete and my coach is here, so I’m here during the season.” He pauses for a second to consider what else is important enough about himself to share, and Aleksei takes that time to jump in.

“An athlete! That’s cool!” His face is open and bright. “What do you do?”

“I’m a figure skater,” Yuri says, shoulders raised and ready to disappoint. It’s not exactly a sport people think of when they think _professional athlete._

“Ah, I can’t say I follow figure skating, sorry. I’m more of a warm weather sports person.” He looks at Yuri for an uncomfortably long moment before he says, “I bet you’re good. You look stubborn.”

Yuri actually laughs at that. “So I’ve heard,” he says. “Yeah, you could say I’m good.”

“How good is good?”

Yuri waves a hand in front of his face. “Look me up yourself later, I’m not here to talk skating. You haven’t told me anything about you.”

Aleksei laughs again, a bright and familiar sound about him. “All right, all right. I’m a student at Saint Petersburg studying literature. I bartend and wait tables to make extra money. It’s not nearly as interesting as being a professional athlete, my apologies.”

“It’s really not all that interesting if it’s all you know,” Yuri says. “I’m not enrolled in university, so that could be plenty interesting to me.”

“Really? You aren’t in online classes or anything?” Yuri shakes his head as their food arrives. “Have you ever thought about it?” Aleksei asks after their waiter leaves.

Yuri has thought about it, but only the abstract. “I don’t really know what I’d do,” he admits. “It’s something I may do when I retire, though.”

“What do you like to do? Besides figure skating, I mean.”

“Um,” he says, pretty sure that _play with my cat and scroll through Instagram_ isn’t the right answer. “I kind of like to cook, when I have time. I like doing my hair, and dancing, even though that’s related to skating. I like working with numbers, too.” He’s grasping for half those things, and it’s never really occurred to him how sad his life is outside of figure skating.

“You could do something with that! You could go to art school or culinary school or do all sorts of cool things with mathematics. One of my friends is doing a program on physics in the performing arts, so you could even do something like that!”

“I could,” Yuri says around a bite of his salad. “Why’d you choose literature?”

“I dunno, really. I just enjoy it. I liked reading before I had to do it all the time, though now I like having a break from it. It just seemed right.”

“Eh, well I’ll think more about what feels right the closer I get to retirement.”

Aleksei changes the subject, telling Yuri about himself: how he likes to cook, how much he misses his dog, how much he wants to travel outside of Russia one day, and Yuri finds himself asking questions to find out more any time Aleksei drops an interesting tidbit.

“So what are your thoughts on ice hockey?” Aleksei asks as Yuri’s phone, facedown on the table, rings.

“If you tell me you’re a secret ice hockey player, I’m going to have to leave immediately,” Yuri says, ignoring the incessant buzzing. He’d gotten several messages throughout lunch but had ignored them all.

“What if I am? What’s so wrong with hockey?” The phone stops ringing.

“I shit you not,” Yuri says, and the phone starts again, “I will leave you here with the bill if you don’t stop.”

“Only if you tell me what’s so bad about it!” Aleksei says, then quickly adds, “you can answer that, you know.”

Yuri glares, but flips it over quickly in case it’s important. It’s Yakov.

“Yeah?”

“The Grand Prix assignments have been released.”

Oh, shit. “I haven’t checked yet, where am I?”

“Skate America and NHK.” The first and last competitions, dammit. “Vitya and I are already reworking your training schedule to take advantage of the long break you have between qualifiers.”

“Shit, okay, do you need me to come by to plan? Who am I up against?”

“Just take your rest day, Yura, but if you have a chance to meet with Vitya, you should.”

“Okay, yeah, okay. I’ll do that.”

Yakov hangs up without another word.

“You okay?” Aleksei asks.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good.” Yuri looks at the messages on his phone, from Mila and Otabek and Yuuri and Viktor. “Competition placements just came out, that’s all.”

“If you need to go, that’s fine,” Aleksei says genuinely, then checks his watch. “I should probably get my life in order before my shift anyway.”

“Ah, yeah, okay,” Yuri says absently as he checks the two messages from Otabek. _Let me know when I can call_ from over half an hour ago, and _Grand prix assignments are up_ from about ten minutes ago.

Over the course of lunch with Aleksei, Yuri had somehow forgotten that he’s supposed to call Otabek today.

“Hey, so, I know you’re busy,” Aleksei says sheepishly as they’re paying their bills, “but would you wanna do this again next week? No pressure if you don’t,” he adds hurriedly to the end.

“Yeah,” Yuri says, not thinking too much about it. “Well, actually, my schedule is about to change so let me get back to you on the time, but yeah, that would be nice.”

Aleksei smiles at him, a dumb, toothy grin, and his hair flops into his face, and Yuri catches himself looking forward to next time.

“Hey,” Yuri says into his phone once he’s back to his room.

“Hey, yourself,” Otabek says, and _wow_ , it’s been too long.

“Wait, first things first, where are you for the Grand Prix?” Yuri asks before he can get caught up in Otabek’s voice.

“Canada and France. What, you didn’t check already?” Otabek teases.

“Nah, I was at lunch with a friend when they went up. Yakov called me to let me know where I am.” And Viktor had texted him, and Yuuri had sent him a text reading _NHK!!!_ followed by approximately one million Japan flag emojis, so.

“Aha, well. We aren’t together, so I guess we’ll just have to wait to see each other again until the final.”

Yuri’s breath catches. _Otabek still wants to see him._ Otabek doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. Yuri hasn’t fucked it up so bad that Otabek doesn’t want to see him.

“Yura?” Otabek says, and Yuri realizes he’s been quiet too long.

“Yeah! Yeah, I mean, you just have to make it to the final, but yeah, we’ll see each other there.”

“What, you think I can’t make it?”

“Well, considering you haven’t told me anything you’re working on so far, I’m under the impression you have nothing planned,” Yuri teases.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I meant to keep you updated, but I’ve been...distracted. But I like what I’m working on. I choreographed my own short again this year.”

“And when am I gonna get to see it?”

“When everyone else does.”

“That’s not fair!” Yuri complains. From his bed, Potya looks up at him, eyes squinted from the sleep he just disturbed. “Even if I wait until competition to show you, you still get to see mine first! I compete before you!”

“That’s tough,” Otabek says. “Must be hard not to know what the competition is doing. Maybe I’ll send you a clip the day you skate.”

“Not worth it. You’re bad at being petty, anyway.”

Otabek laughs. “What are you working on?” It’s a strange question, coming from Otabek, because Yuri usually just sends him a million videos of everything anyway.

“I choreographed my free skate,” he says, leaving out some key details about the elements of said choreography. “Well, mostly. Viktor made me change some things, but it’s mostly my own. Still haven’t done a full run of my short, though.”

“Congrats on choreographing. What’s your music?”

“You’ll find out in October,” Yuri says, half out of pettiness and half because he’s nervous to tell Otabek about it.

“Fair,” Otabek says around a chuckle.

“How was your set last night?” Yuri asks just to keep the conversation going.

“Eh, all right. It’s a newer club in the area and I’m great for publicity, but it’s not really my sort of place. Did Mila stay over last night?”

Yuri is saved from having to compare it to Otabek’s favorite club tactfully by the question. “Uh, no? Why would she have?”

“She was at your place last night and you got lunch together today.”

“Oh, no. She went home last night, I met up with someone else.”

“Is Georgi visiting?”

“No, I—why do you think you know all my friends?”

“You know all mine.”

“Okay, well, sorry, you don’t know mine. I sometimes meet people when you’re not around, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Yura, I just…” He sighs. “How was lunch?”

“What, we’re making small talk now?”

“You just yelled at me for asking other questions, so I’m trying to be as innocuous as possible here.”

“Whatever, just talk to me like you normally do.”

“I’m trying and you’re not answering me, so there’s only so much I can do.”

“Well, try again!” Yuri swears he’s only mad at himself, but he can’t seem to help but yell at Otabek.

Yuri can just barely make out Otabek’s light huff into the line. “Today’s your rest day, right? What did you do today?”

Yuri really doesn’t think this is much better. “Went to lunch with Aleksei. Going to go for a run after this. What have you done today?”

“Went for a ride. Who’s Aleksei?”

“A friend. I met him the other night. He goes to university here.”

“So he’s not a skater? How did you meet?”

Yuri rolls his eyes. Not every person he talks to skates. Serik doesn’t. His grandfather.

(Okay, so maybe everyone he talks to skates.)

“No, he doesn’t skate, he was our...waiter when I went out with Mila a while ago.”

Otabek is quiet for long enough that Yuri is about to ask if he’s still there. “Ah. Makes sense,” he says, airy and stiff.

“What?”

“Listen, Yura, I have to go.”

“Oh, okay. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Bye.”

“Bye,” Yuri says softly, and his phone beeps as the call ends.

So much for nothing changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri: "what, we're making small talk now?"  
> Yuri, literally two minutes earlier: *makes small talk just so Otabek doesn't hang up*  
> My boy is dense as hell
> 
> Can you believe that this chapter was originally longer and I decided I was just doing too much and cut some of it? Yet this is still too much so???
> 
> I choreographed Yuri's entire free skate, but I also only watch figure skating and have never done it or choreographed for it, but if you want to hear about my probably-unrealistic choreography, please let me know!!! Some of it was adapted to be like Yuzuru Hanyu's free skate this year (RIP Worlds 2020 where he may have actually done the quad axel)
> 
> [Yuri's free skate music!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xarC5jAiO7w) My eternal love to anyone who knows why I chose it.


	11. Middle of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so when I normally say I haven't proof-read a chapter, I mean that I've probably skimmed the whole thing once before posting. That is not the case here. I literally did not reread some of these sections at all before slapping it up here, so _please_ let me know if you catch an error!
> 
> Hope that almost 7k words of content makes up for the wait!
> 
> ["Middle of the Night" by The Vamps, Martin Jensen](https://open.spotify.com/track/74vs7PD7iG2GnWUGnb8Yuq?si=UIVFcjTCQFmuzpN7_Plmwg)

“How are your programs coming along?” Otabek asks one evening on one of their rare phone calls, a little over a month before Skate America. Yuri can tell how foreign the question still seems to Otabek when they used to live out of each other’s pockets during the pre-season, sending each other links to music with no explanation and sharing plans and improbable aspirations for their choreography with no context and no prompting. It feels weirdly formal to ask about it outright.

“All right, I guess,” Yuri says, shrugging a bit even though Otabek can’t see him. “The piece I choreographed with Viktor is coming together, so that’s good. I still hate the short program music he chose for me, though. What about you?”

“It’s fine,” Otabek says, not elaborating. “What’s wrong with the music?”

“I just don’t like it.” Yuri flumps onto his back and lets his head dangle off his bed. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. He originally choreographed it without a single quad, can you believe that? I got him to add a couple back in, but it’s like he wants me to fail. Yakov is letting me do my own choreography for my exhibition skates if I just do Viktor’s short, though, so I guess that's okay.”

“I’m sure they’ll be great. I look forward to seeing them.”

Before, Yuri was used to lulls in their conversations, usually filled with the sounds of one of them preparing dinner or typing or cleaning, but the silence now is unfamiliar. “How’s your free skate coming?” he asks.

Otabek makes a noncommittal sound. “Eh,” he says, “not bad. I like my choreography, but I’m still having trouble with one section. I may have rework it. I’m out for two days from missing a jump so badly.”

“What? What did you do?” 

“Tried a jump with my arms up and lost balance. At first we thought my wrist was sprained from the landing, but it’s fine. I’m pretty bruised, though, so I’m off ice.”

“Jesus, Beka, don’t take yourself out before we even get to competition. Be more careful.”

Otabek snorts lightly. “Yeah, you’re a real model of caution, Yura, always super careful with yourself on the ice.”

Yuri smirks a little despite himself. “Hey, I don’t have any major injuries yet, so I must be doing something right.” He’s quiet for a second, thinking of how injury comes easier with age. He never wants to be forced into retirement himself, but he’s suddenly even more worried about what these sort of seemingly-minor injuries could mean for Otabek. A few years ago, Otabek probably wouldn’t have mentioned a fall like that, much less be out of commission from it. “I mean it, though. Do me a favor and take care of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Otabek says quietly. Yuri is about to ask him more about his choreography in the pause that follows, but Otabek suddenly says, “well, I should go. I’ll talk to you later, Yura.”

“Oh, okay. Bye.” Yuri’s phone beeps in his ear with the end-of-call tone before he’s finished saying the last word, and he feels empty again, unsure what to do with the rest of the evening.

Yuri is warming up his dinner the next night when his phone lights up with a notification that Otabek posted a new photo. It’s a close-up of Edamame, someone else’s hand scratching under her chin, her green eyes bright and looking directly at the camera.

_I probably should have tried to keep her, since I think about her so much. #edamame_

Yuri likes it before he can think about it too much.

The next month of training flies by in an overwhelming blur. Yuri is landing the axel about thirty percent of the time in practice, including in run-throughs of his free, and he’s determined to get it competition-ready by Skate America.

“Don’t,” Viktor says one day when Yuri’s landed it in combination in his program again. “Do not try to do it at Skate America. You miss it and you lose your only three-jump combo, and you don’t want to let your competitors know that you have it this early anyway.”

“What, like they’re gonna be able to do it by the next competition?” Yuri scoffs. “If I’m ready by then, I’m doing it.”

“But you’re not, so you won’t.”

“Watch me.”

He proceeds not to land it, so he’s in a horrible mood when Aleksei calls him that evening.

“When are you next free?”

“Saturday afternoon,” Yuri answers absently.

“Sweet. Dominoes at my place!”

They’ve only ever met up in public before, at restaurants and tea shops. “Look, Alyosha, I’m not really sure I have the time to—”

“Come on, Yura, it’ll be fun! You need to take a break. You can just text me Saturday after practice if you’re too tired to come over, but what’s the harm in planning some fun in your schedule?”

“I’m an Olympic-level athlete with a competition in a few weeks, I don’t have time for fun.”

“You’re also young and need to learn to have hobbies. You’re not going to be working then, anyway, so you’re not losing any time. If you really don’t want to you don’t have to, but—”

“Fine,” Yuri snaps, “I’ll go over. Text me your address.” He hangs up before Aleksei can respond.

**Aleksei:** it’s okay if you don’t want to, my feelings won’t be hurt

Yuri rolls his eyes. Of course Aleksei would just continue the conversation as if nothing had happened.

**Yuri:** it’s not that I don’t want to but I’m exhausted and stressed all the time now

**Aleksei:** oh so like normal?

**Yuri:** fuck you

**Yuri:** but yeah

The next response takes a moment longer to come in, and Yuri stares at his phone absently as he waits.

**Aleksei:** have you considered that there’s more to life than being unhappy all the time?

**Yuri:** stressed doesn’t mean unhappy, it means stressed. I’m perfectly happy competing.

**Aleksei:** okay

**Aleksei:** we can do something else if you want 

**Aleksei:** your choice. It doesn’t have to be dominoes.

**Yuri:** whatever, it’s fine, i’ll be there.

And he is. Early, even. He’d brought a spare change of clothes to the rink and showered there, since the metro station he needed to get to is closer to the rink than his place.

(“You look so nice, Yuri!” Yuuri had said outside the rink, on his way to meet Viktor after teaching his own ballet class that morning. “Are you going somewhere?”

Yuri almost snapped at him to mind his business, but caught himself at the last second. “Just meeting up with a friend,” he said awkwardly, not looking Yuuri in the eye. He’d mentioned Aleksei once offhandedly to him while helping him make dinner, and he’d seen the look of confused curiosity in his eye. Yuri had managed to change the subject, and Yuuri had blessedly not brought it up since.

Yuuri smiled at him. “So you’re not coming for dinner tonight?” Yuri shook his head. “Have fun, be safe,” Yuuri said, just this side of too sweet, and Yuri scowled at him and stomped away.

Let him think Yuri was rebounding. It’s less pathetic than the truth.)

Yuri checks the address on his phone one last time before knocking.

“I brought snacks,” he says as soon as Aleksei opens the door, shoving the bag in his face. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Aleksei takes the bag and peers inside at the pre-packaged cakes and chips Yuri picked up from a market on his walk from the station. “This is perfect. Thanks, Yura!” Aleksei grins and steps back to let Yuri in.

Yuri ducks his head and toes off his shoes in the doorway. He sets his bag from practice delicately next to his shoes, propped against the wall and out of the way. “Yeah, whatever.”

Aleksei snorts. “Welcome! Sorry, it’s not much,” he says, taking a few steps into the front room, which seems to serve as a living and dining room combination. “It’s home, though.”

Yuri takes it in. It’s clearly older but decently maintained. It’s kind of dark, and there are built-in wooden shelves on the walls, a lot like in the apartment he grew up in, maybe a bit nicer. “I like it. Do you live alone?”

“Nah, I have a roommate, but she’s gone for the break. She’ll be back in a few days. I stay between terms so I can work, but she goes home.” He dumps the snacks onto the coffee table, avoiding the open case of dominoes there, and begins to sort through them.

“That sucks, that you don’t go home,” Yuri says. He always spends what time of the off-season that he isn’t in Almaty with his grandfather in Moscow.

“It’s not so bad. My parents come to visit when they can, and they always bring my dog. Last year I found a few days to go home, but it didn’t work out this time.” Aleksei chooses a pack of shitty cakes and opens it. “All right, so. Draw, fives, threes, or block?” Aleksei asks as Yuri sits on the floor at the coffee table.

“Are you kidding? Draw, obviously.”

“Jeez, I didn’t know you had such strong domino preferences. My apologies.”

“If I wanted to play fives, I could go back to your shitty bar with all their missing pieces.”

Aleksei laughs around his mouthful of cake. “Yeah, I like to believe my set is nicer. It isn’t missing any, at least.”

“Can I draw?” Yuri asks, and Aleksei waves his confirmation, his mouth too full of cake to answer. Yuri picks up the case, ready to dump them out, then notices the way they catch the light. They really are a gorgeous set, matte grey with a shiny rainbow of colors in the pips, and he’s sure his followers are getting tired of seeing nothing but pictures of Potya or the occasional meal, so he pulls out his phone and angles the case again for a nice shot.

“Oh?” Aleksei says as Yuri takes the picture. “Am I finally going to be on Yuri Plisetsky’s famous Instagram?”

Yuri scowls to hide his embarrassment. Aleksei _has_ been on his Instagram, but just his hands as the background to a mug of tea or his back when the best shot of a basket of piroshki happened to be one where he was walking in front of Yuri.

And maybe once, several weeks ago after a continuation of an argument from their first meet-up, Yuri had shared an unflattering photo of Aleksei captioned _thinks hockey isn’t that bad_ (followed, naturally, by a ton of vomit emojis) to his _close friends_ story, though that was before Yuri decided to add Aleksei to that small group. Aleksei is the only non-skater on his close friends list, but he doesn’t need to know that, just like he doesn’t need to know that a handful of the skating community has already seen him.

”Only part of one of your hands, seeing as you’re too busy stuffing your face to make a good photo,” Yuri shoots back. “What, is it some goal of yours to get on my Instagram? You got something to promote?”

Aleksei, forever in good spirits, laughs. “My latest essay? The bar, perhaps? You could probably get me some good tips from tourists.”

“Yeah, I’m sure my fanbase of thirteen year old girls will make you so much money.”

“I’m sure of your, what, three hundred thousand followers, at least a few of them are of legal drinking age. Like, definitely at least five.”

Yuri leans across the table and shoves at him. “Fuck off, let’s start the game,” he says as he flips all the dominoes facedown to draw from. He clears his throat. “Why do you know how many followers I have, creep?”

“I follow you, stupid,” Aleksei says as he draws. “I looked at how many followers you had when I did. Didn’t know I was befriending a celebrity. My mistake.”

Yuri glares at him. “Wouldn’t really call myself a celebrity.” Yuri looks down at the hand he drew and tries not to sigh. “I’ve got no doubles. Your move.”

“I would,” Aleksei says as he places the double six neatly in the center of the table. “You’re an international athlete. I watched a couple of your skates, so I’d even say you’re a kind of good one.”

Shit. Yuri should have said fives. He places the six-three. “What happened to not following skating?”

“That was before I had a reason to. I don’t know much about skating, but you seem really good.” Aleksei looks at what Yuri has set down and actually pouts as he moves to draw. “You’re different when you perform, though. If I didn’t know you, I never would have guessed that you’re so loud and aggressive.” He smirks. “You look like you’re gonna fall apart any second when you skate, all beautiful and delicate. You’re an incredible actor.”

“What fucking performances did you watch?” Yuri asks, mollified only by the fact that Aleksei has at this point drawn four bones and still hasn’t found a playable one. Clearly he hadn’t watched any of Yuri’s favorites.

“Your senior debut, first,” he says, punctuated with a little _aha!_ as he finally draws a playable bone. “Cute kid.” He snorts and Yuri’s glare. “Then I watched the most recent season. Your music got edgier, but your acting got softer. It’s pretty impressive.”

“We don’t talk about my senior debut,” Yuri says as he looks over his hand. “Those were dark times.”

“Didn’t you set, like, three world records or something like that? Youngest person to win some major competitions?”

“Yeah, but who let me wear those _bodysuits_?” Yuri says, shuddering in horror at the memory. He had thought they were nice enough at the time, but they’re so painfully not his style that he can barely stand to look at them anymore.

“I thought they were nice,” Aleksei says as he takes his turn. “They suited your performances, at least.”

“What would you know?”

Aleksei shrugs. “Nothing, I guess,” he says. “So who’s that guy who was at the kiss and cry with you during Russian Championships last year?”

Yuri freezes for a second, hand halfway to the stock. He hopes Aleksei doesn’t notice. “Who, Otabek? He’s my friend. He’s Kazakhstan’s top figure skater.” He tries to say it casually, but Yuri can hear the hint of pride in his voice.

“Hm. He’s cute.”

Yuri glares at him. “What, you gay for him? Want me to introduce you?” _Not happening_ , he thinks wildly, as if he would ever get the chance anyway.

“Excuse me, I would be _bi_ for him, thank you very much, but no. You are.” He smirks at Yuri, his smug little lips pursed and one eyebrow raised.

“What the _fuck_?” Yuri half-shouts at him, and he would throw a domino at him, except it’s his last bone and he really doesn’t want to risk losing the game.

“You’re not very subtle. He was literally the only person you smiled at in any video I watched.”

“Because he’s my _friend_ , not—what the _fuck_ —”

“So, what, he’s not your boyfriend? Which one of you do I need to yell at to get their shit together? Because you obviously like each other.”

“You can’t tell that from—it’s a fucking _video_ , it’s not like that!”

As it turns out, Aleksei has a powerful unimpressed stare.

“Ugh!” Yuri tosses his head into his hands. “Drop it! It’s really not like that!”

“Well, it should be,” Aleksei says confidently. “Have you considered asking him out?”

“No!” Yuri yells into his hands. His face feels hot. “We...we tried it and it didn’t work, okay?” He hopes his palms can muffle his misery.

“Oh,” Aleksei says, his horrified tone a dramatic 180 from his confidence from mere seconds ago. “Oh my god, Yura, I didn’t realize, I’m so sorry—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Yuri bites out. “It’s fine. We’re still friends. I just...wasn’t what he needed, all right? Now drop it.”

Aleksei stays quiet for a second, and Yuri dares to look at him through his fingers. His face is twisted into an awkward grimace.

“My bad,” he eventually says. “You can punch me once whenever you want?”

Yuri huffs out a tiny laugh. “I would have done that anyway,” he says. “It’s fine.”

Aleksei smiles sadly at him, but his eyes are light. “Fair enough.” His eyes search over Yuri’s face, then he looks down. “It’s still your turn.”

“Ah, yeah,” Yuri says, then looks at his last tile. He looks at the board. He doesn’t have a playable tile.

He draws from the stock, then draws again, and again, and again, until he can’t draw anymore.

“I’m blocked,” he finally says.

“Sucks,” Aleksei says, and he places a tile. “I win.”

Yuri looks up. That can’t be right. He swears Aleksei had to draw a ton of tiles a few moves ago.

Aleksei blinks innocently at him.

“You cheat!” Yuri yells at him, realizing. “You fucking cheat! You did that on purpose, didn’t you! You distracted me! What the fuck did you do, did you put some of your tiles back when I wasn’t looking? You piece of shit!”

“Maybe you just weren’t paying enough attention,” Aleksei says with a smile.

Yuri launches over the table at him.

A few minutes later, once the dominoes are scattered everywhere and an entire cake is smushed into Yuri’s neck, Yuri gets a picture of Aleksei. His hair is a mess and his checks are red and splotchy, but he has the nerve to stick his tongue out at Yuri in the picture.

“I’m posting this and tagging you,” Yuri says, no room for argument. “You’ll never play dominoes in this city again.”

“Go for it,” Aleksei says smoothly, then pushes his hair up out of his face. “It’s a good picture. Maybe the right person will see it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you look like you lost a fight,” Yuri says, but he’d be lying if he said the picture isn’t at least a little cute. “You’re full of shit and you know it.”

“Yet you’re still here,” Aleksei says.

“Poor judgement,” Yuri says as he captions the picture. _this man will eat all your food and cheat at dominoes, do NOT let him in your home_ , it says. He tags Aleksei in it, then moves to clean up the dominoes.

“We’re starting over. You’re playing fair this time.”

Yuri should have started off by playing fives, because he quickly realizes that he’s far better than Aleksei is at math, which gives him a huge advantage.

“You’re also a cheater,” Aleksei says as they clean up for the night. It’s gotten late, and Yuri needs to head home.

“It’s not my fault if you don’t notice when you score,” Yuri says. “What, am I supposed to do the math for you?”

“Yes!” Aleksei says. “You just didn’t want to because I would have won!”

“Not my fault, Alyosha. Keep track of your own score.”

Aleksei sticks his tongue out at him as he closes the case of dominoes. “You’re a horrible friend,” he says.

“You’re just now realizing that?”

Aleksei flicks Yuri’s shoulder. “Whatever,” he says as he walks him to the door. “Good night. Text me when you’re home safe.”

Yuri flushes a little. People don’t often ask if he’s home safe. It’s usually just Yuuri and Otabek. “Yeah, sure,” he says, busying himself with shoving on his shoes. “Maybe you could come by my place some time? There’s not much to do, but I have a cat and a TV.”

Aleksei beams at him. “Sure,” he says. “I’d love to. Let me know when.”

Yuri smiles at him. “Uh, okay, well, I’ll see you around.”

“See you, Yura,” Aleksei says, then Yuri’s out the door.

He hears Aleksei throw the lock behind him, then pulls his hood up and hurries away.

_Davai!_ Yuri receives from Otabek the morning of his short program at Skate America. Yuri sends back a few flame emojis, a devil emoji, and a thumbs up emoji before handing his phone to Yuuri.

“If you lose it, I’ll kill you,” Yuri says, then readies himself for the warm-up.

He’s at ease during the warm-up and through his program. He scores well on the short, nowhere near his best, but still comfortably ahead of his competitors.

Viktor grins smugly at him at the end of the men’s singles competition. “I told you it’d work for you,” he says.

“Doesn’t mean your music choice doesn’t suck,” Yuri shoots back. “I’m never letting you choose my music again.”

It isn’t until well into the evening, after they’ve watched Mila outperform everyone to also sit in a comfortable lead, that Yuri retrieves his phone from Yuuri. It is, of course, flooded with notifications, but he sifts through the news articles and fan posts to find more personal messages.

_I just watched you, and wow, that was awesome_ , Serik sent about half an hour ago.

_Breathtaking_ , Otabek had sent hours ago, almost immediately after Yuri’s program had ended. _Congrats, you’ve got this_ , from around the time the rest of the men’s singles scores were announced, followed quickly by, _okay, I’m getting some sleep. Good luck tomorrow._

Yuri checks the time. It’s nearly ten in the morning in Almaty now. _Sorry, didn’t have my phone. Thanks_ , he sends back.

_Congratulations again_ , he receives almost immediately.

“Tell Yakov I’m going back to the hotel,” Yuri tells Viktor. “I’m tired and don’t feel like waiting around for him and Mila anymore.”

Viktor smiles at him, then turns back to watching the ice dancers performing in front of him.

“I’ll make sure to let them know,” Yuuri says fondly from next to Viktor. “Get some rest. We’ll see you later.”

Yuri nods, then gathers his things to head back to the hotel and stare stubbornly up at the ceiling until he falls asleep.

“Yura!” Mila cries as soon as he opens the door to his hotel room. “Let’s go out!”

“I can’t go anywhere,” he says. “Drinking age is twenty-one in America, remember?”

“Yura, we are in _Las Vegas._ There is so much else to do besides go drinking. You can’t just stay in your room all day!”

“Watch me.”

Mila pouts at him. “You’re just bitter because you lost. Come on, let’s at least get dinner! It’s on me!”

“Get off,” Yuri says as he tries to shake Mila’s grip from his arm. “Getting silver isn’t _losing_ , now go away.”

“Yeah, but it’s not winning,” she says with a pointed smirk, and she knows exactly how much Yuri hates that she’s right. “If you had listened to Vitya—”

“Fuck off!” So he had gone for the quad axel and it came out like an over-rotated triple that he two-footed, just like Viktor said would happen, so what? Touching down and mistiming his combination probably isn’t what cost him gold. He isn’t even upset that he didn’t win gold. Seung-gil had earned it, honestly.

He’s not bitter.

“Yura, come on, seriously, don’t make me go out alone!”

“There’s dozens of other skaters here, go bother one of them!”

“You know I’m not friends with any of them!” She tugs lightly on his sleeve, then pouts at him. “Please? I’m gonna be bored all night if we don’t go out! Come on, just for a little while?”

“Fine,” he says as he shakes his arm loose. “Where do you want to go?”

A nail salon is _not_ what he had in mind.

“I am only doing this,” Yuri grits out (in English, for the nail technicians’ sake) as soon as Mila has gotten him in a chair, “because you are paying.”

“Fine by me!” Mila chirps out, also in English, as the technician in front of her gets everything set up. “All I ask is that you choose a good color.”

Yuri rolls his eyes but begins flipping through the samples in front of him with his free hand. A few sparkly blacks catch his eye. “Can you do more than one color?” he asks the tech currently massaging his hand.

“Of course,” she says. “Let me know what colors or designs you want.”

“Got something in mind?” Mila asks him.

Yuri shrugs one shoulder. “Not sure which on is best,” he says, flipping between one iridescent black and a sparkly dark grey that looks like storm clouds.

“I was hoping you’d do rainbows,” Mila says in Russian. “You know, to match the shoulder in your free skate costume.”

“Hell no,” Yuri says quickly. “That’s already too much for me. And I’m not wearing that again for weeks, why would I need to match it?”

“Just a suggestion,” Mila says, then turns back to the technician to start talking about what designs she wants.

There’s no way Yuri is painting a rainbow across his nails. Absolutely not. It had taken weeks of designing and convincing for Yuri to bend to Viktor’s idea for a sheer shoulder with iridescent rainbow mesh in his otherwise black and silver costume, and it was hard to even see the shine of the rainbow unless you knew to look for it. No way.

“Ooh, Yura, you should do that!” Mila says to him in English.

“Huh?”

“Did you hear her? She said they have cat nail stencils!”

Which is how Yuri ends up posing for a picture of his nails for the salon to post to their Instagram.

“Tag me in it!” Mila says of the picture they took of her own nails, a matte merlot red accented with glittery silver lattice. She’s been making cheery conversation with the techs the whole time, and she leaves a sizable tip as she pays.

“They aren’t quite as clean as the place I go back home, but they still turned out really well,” Mila says as they walk to a gaudy American restaurant nearby. “I’m gonna repost this to my story. Can I do yours, too?”

“Whatever,” Yuri says, looking at the little silver cat faces on his nails. “They’re overpriced.”

“Not really,” Mila says as they enter the restaurant. “Martyna charges nearly double. I should take you to her sometime, maybe before NHK. She could do a great subtle rainbow for you.”

“I don’t want a rainbow!” Yuri spits at her as they approach the hostess of the restaurant.

“For two, please,” Mila says in English to the hostess, then they’re being led back to an open table. “Why not?” she asks Yuri as they’re seated.

“The whole program and theme and costume should be enough, I really don’t need shitty paint on my fingers to say anything. Who am I, Georgi?”

Mila laughs at that. “You’re way too understated to be Zhora, don’t even pretend. Unless you plan on adding smokey eye to your free skate next time?”

“Hell the fuck no,” Yuri says, appalled that she would even think of him doing that. “I’m not that pathetic.”

She laughs into her water. “Well? Has he said anything?”

Yuri busies himself with the menu. “Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think Georgi is watching me,” Yuri says in avoidance.

Mila rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Yura, don’t play dumb. What does Otabek think of your free?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri says, then squints at the menu. “What the fuck does this mean?” he asks, sliding it across the table and pointing at the description of a hamburger. He’s not sure what half the words in the description are.

“No idea,” Mila says. “You should get it. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not, I really don’t know what that says. Just like I don’t know what Otabek thinks.”

“What, you haven’t talked to him? There’s no way he wouldn’t say something about it.”

“There are plenty of things he doesn’t say stuff about, but no, I haven’t talked to him.” Yuri frowns at the menu. “I turned my WiFi off before I went on today. I didn’t want to see what anyone had to say about it.”

Mila reaches across the table to lift Yuri’s chin, then places her hand on his wrist. “You are the last person to let what people say affect you, Yura,” she says calmly. “It’s your life. You chose to skate that program. You designed it, you chose the music, you chose wrote the story you wanted it to tell. No one can take that from you. Not even him.”

“Go away,” Yuri says, but he wipes at one eye. “Fine, I’ll see what he said when we get back.”

The waiter comes to take their drink orders, and Mila drops it through dinner, but she gives him a pointed look as they enter the hotel.

“Do you know how to shut up?” Yuri asks as they wait for the elevator.

“I didn’t say anything!” she says. “...but are you going to text him?”

Yuri scowls at her, but he pulls out his phone and makes a show of turning on WiFi and opening his thread with Otabek. “Happy?” he says as new notifications pour in, the chime grating at him.

“I will be when you message him,” she says. She steps in front of the buttons in the elevator so Yuri can’t press the one for his floor.

“God, you’re so obnoxious,” he says, but looks at the latest messages in the thread. There’s nothing remarkable there, just the usual good luck and congratulations. _Sorry, was out with mila, are you busy now?_ _I can call now,_ he sends.

Mila, not even hiding that she’s reading his messages, nods once, then steps out of way. She presses the button for her own floor, one above Yuri’s.

“I’m going to my room, but come bother me if you need me,” Mila says as Yuri receives, _I’m out now. Give me half an hour?_

“Thanks, Baba,” Yuri says as the doors open on his floor. “Good night.”

“Always,” she says as the doors shut behind Yuri.

Yuri absolutely does not count down the minutes until Otabek calls him. He also doesn’t let it ring for a few seconds before answering even though his phone is in his hand so he doesn’t seem desperate. That’s not a thing that he does.

“Did you watch?” Yuri asks as soon as the line connects.

“You know I always do. You were incredible.”

“I wish you were here.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “So you could beat me?”

“No, I...what did you think?”

“Of...your program?” Yuri makes a noise of confirmation. “It was expressive. Powerful. You deserved to win.”

It’s not the answer Yuri wanted to hear, and it doesn’t sound like Otabek means anything more by it. He doesn’t _get_ it. Yuri went through all the trouble of designing a program just for Otabek to see him, and he _doesn’t get it._ “Bullshit,” he says. “It wasn’t clean enough.”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t impressive. You’re only so hard on yourself because it’s your first competitive choreography. Besides, it’s your first competition of the season. You have time to clean it to perfection.”

“Whatever. Who else did you watch?”

“No one,” Otabek says. “It was late here.”

“See, then you can’t know if I was the best. What are you doing today?”

“Just got in from a run. I’m going to see my parents later since it’s my last weekend before competitions.”

“Mmm, have fun,” Yuri says, then muffles a yawn. “Do I still not get to see your programs before you compete?”

Otabek laughs softly. “It’s less than a week. You can wait.”

“But we always share programs early!”

“You didn’t share yours with me.”

“You started it! Come on, you’ve seen mine now, can’t I at least know your music?”

“Listen, I don’t want you to see it yet.” Yuri doesn’t even have the chance to protest before Otabek starts again. “Wait, okay, that isn’t right. I’m sorry. Not just you. Anyone. I’m not sure I like it. Okay? My short is really different from anything I’ve done before, and I’m nervous about it. I don’t even want to see it myself. It’s uncomfortable for me to watch recordings of it.”

Yuri listens to Otabek breathe over the line for a moment, the too-controlled pace of it, and he snaps. “Beka, you could have just _told_ me that before, what the hell! Did you _see_ what I skated today? My free is so not like me it’d almost be hilarious if I weren’t panicking about how fucking scared I am about what people are gonna say about it. I haven’t been able to get on Twitter all day because I’m afraid someone’s figured it out, and you wont show me your program because it doesn’t _suit you_? That’s what you’re nervous about? In a program that _you_ choreographed? We perform for a living. You’re gonna have to get over yourself.”

“What if I didn’t see your free skate?”

Yuri scoffs. It’s not even about that. Yuri had opened the door to normalcy for Otabek, and he’d refused to enter. “Too late. Stop trying to come up with reasons you won’t send it to me, it’s fine, I’ll see it when I see it.”

“No, Yura, I mean. What if I...haven’t actually seen your free skate yet? And don’t know if it’s like you or not? What if I didn’t actually watch it?”

Yuri blinks twice at the wall before he answers. “You just said you did, though.”

“Well,” Otabek starts, and oh, something is definitely up. “I lie sometimes.”

“Beka. Did you seriously not watch it?”

“I—I didn’t, Yura, I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“It was late, I was tired, I’m sor—”

Yuri cuts him off. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend he isn’t hurt. “No. Don’t lie to me again. We always watch each other no matter what! You _just_ said that! Beka. What the hell! Why the fuck didn’t you watch me?”

“Yura, listen, I…” Otabek sighs harshly into the line then says something in Kazakh, and he sounds exhausted when he responds. “It hurts, okay? I swear I watched your short program, I promise, but it hurts seeing you again. I—I miss you, all right? Watching your short made me realize how much I miss you. No, not realize it, I already knew, but it made it hurt more, okay? It hurts to watch you and see you and pretend that things are just the way they were, and I’m trying, but it’s going to take me time.” He sounds tiny as he clears his throat and continues. “I’m easing my way into it. I’ll be here however you want me to be, no matter who you’re with or what you do, but don’t. Don’t taunt me. Don’t make it harder for me than it has to be. Please.”

“Beka,” Yuri says, a moment too late, because Otabek is talking again.

“I’m sorry, Yura, I’ll go now—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do _not_ ,” Yuri says, “hang up the fucking phone until you listen to me.”

“I already know what you’re going to say, and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear it again—”

“ _Otabek_. Will you shut your goddamn mouth for thirty seconds? God, never in my life did I ever think I would want you to talk less.” Yuri takes Otabek’s stiff, awkward huff of laughter as indication to continue. “Since you think you know everything, please tell me what you think I was going to say.”

“Yura, please.”

“Nope. If you know so much, tell me.”

“Just forget I said anything.”

“No.”

They wait in silence for long enough that Yuri is about to tell Otabek to forget it, he doesn’t have to say anything, when Otabek finally speaks.

“I know you’re with someone else, and I know that you don’t feel the same about me, but can you please not do this to me? It’s...a lot easier on me to pretend nothing happened.”

“Get out of your own damn head for five minutes, Beka. I’m not doing anything to you. Can you just watch my free skate when you get the chance? You know I’m not good at this. I never get the words right. But you’re wrong, okay? I miss you, too. A lot.” _Please understand_.

“Yuri.” Yuri flinches, and he’s glad Otabek can’t see. “I can’t do the halfway thing. I won’t grasp at anything I get of you just to read into something you may not even mean, and I definitely can’t figure things out for you. I’ll always be here for you, but I’m not going to set myself up for disappointment or pain if I can avoid it. 

“Beka!” Somehow, that actually shuts Otabek up, and Yuri plows forward before he can ruin it by thinking about it too much. “Look, I know I fucked up, okay? I have no excuse for that. I’m not good at people because I’ve never had anyone I cared about enough to want to be careful for, but now I don’t know how to even talk to you right because I know I hurt you and you didn’t deserve that. And I’m sorry, okay? I swear I’m trying, but I don’t know how to prove to you that I’m sorry.”

Yuri knows the silence must only last a few seconds, but he swears he sees his entire world collapse in front of him a thousand ways in that time, until he hears Otabek’s soft chuckle. “Do you know,” Otabek says in that warm honey tone Yuri hasn’t heard since he left Almaty, “that you can just say that? You don’t always have to be so dramatic.”

“Um, what?”

“I mean, you can just tell me how you’re feeling. That you feel bad. That you’re sorry. You don’t have to shake the world to prove it to me.”

“I’m...not sure I’m following.”

“Yura,” Otabek says, and it’s so exasperated and sweet and familiar that Yuri could cry, “do you know that you never once acknowledged how I felt? That you may have actually made me feel bad? I thought you didn’t care. I thought that you were fine with me apologizing for pushing you too far, and that you didn’t even notice how you’d pushed back too hard, too.”

“Beka, I—”

“That’s all I needed, Yura,” Otabek interrupts. “I just needed to know that you realized that. Not even an apology. I was so horrified that I was wrong about how well you knew me, so you wouldn’t even notice that I was hurt. I...I was afraid you were right, that I was in love with some boy I made up in my head, because there was no way the Yura I know wouldn’t be able to tell. You didn’t even need to apologize. That’s not like you.”

Otabek is quiet for a moment, but Yuri just listens, picturing him bite his lip and work his jaw, chewing on the words he won’t let out, afraid they won’t taste right to Yuri.

Eventually, he speaks. “I’m glad you did, though. Apologize. Because I know you mean it. You don’t have to do anything else to prove it to me.”

Yuri realizes he actually is crying now, just a little, but he ignores it. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I guess,” Otabek starts after a second, “I was trying to figure out if I was wrong. I didn’t want to bring it up to you and make you feel worse for not saying anything if you already knew, or guilt you into saying something if you didn’t mean it. I thought it would be easier on you to ignore it.”

“Not easier for you, though,” Yuri whispers. “God, Beka, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

Yuri whines. “It’s not, though.”

“Shh, I promise it is, Yura. Don’t even think about it.”

Yuri exhales, and it’s unsteady and wet. “I do miss you, you know.” He can almost feel Otabek’s smile.

“I know,” he says softly. “You sound tired, Yura.”

“'m fine,” Yuri says, even though he’s wanted to sleep since before Mila came to get him earlier.

Otabek chuckles fondly. “Do you perform tomorrow?”

“Nn, yeah,” Yuri says. “Exhibition gala. I’m trying out some choreography Yakov let me do.”

“You’ll be great,” Otabek says, smooth and genuine. “You should sleep, though. You don’t want to skate tired.”

“Agh, fine,” Yuri says, if only to give Otabek what he wants.

Otabek laughs again. “Good night, Yurochka. Good luck in the exhibition tomorrow. I’ll watch you.”

Yuri smiles in the dark. “You better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought I was so clever with where I got the idea for Yuri's free skate, but I realize it's pretty dumb now. Oh well.
> 
> I plan on the next chapter being the last one! I have not written a word of it, so it may be a minute. Please be patient with me. I also have an in-universe one-shot bouncing around in my mind that won't fit in the last chapter, but may be another work in the series? A small coda, maybe?
> 
> Random facts about writing this whole fic:  
> When I first started this series, I had only watched Yuri on Ice once, and I think I had read maybe two fics of it. A lot of the details that I put in here I didn't realize were Big Fandom Things. Like, there's an early scene where Otabek is DJ-ing and they give each other thumbs ups and I........somehow missed that that was a thing in canon?? I just thought it would be cute but it turns out it's A Thing.  
> Also, because I had only seen it once, I kind of forgot what a large role Lilia played in the series. I hate that I wrote her out of this, but I didn't know how to add her back in once I'd rewatched and remembered how important she was.  
> Finally, this was meant to be a much darker story originally, but it didn't feel right, so I kept rearranging it until we got this. Hope no one minds what we have here!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Hopefully I can get the last chapter out pretty soon! :)
> 
> [Yuri's Free Skate Inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpipLfMiaYU)   
>  [Yuri's Short Program Music](https://open.spotify.com/track/0bXpmJyHHYPk6QBFj25bYF?si=vLoFMYvfQ9mtE7C-OnlUpw)   
>  [Yuri's Exhibition Music](https://open.spotify.com/track/6Fo6I0zFCK7xwPPP0409JL?si=X7U1CoHqStCsuD0EY6QUww)
> 
> Otabek's short program to be linked next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, call me out on any formatting/grammar/continuity errors. Archive and I don't always get along, so formatting may be weird.
> 
> When the whole story is done, I'll share the playlist I made for it if anyone is interested!
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://mrscalculation.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter]() @MrsCalculation!


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